You do something about it.
Do it.
Do it.
I don't have enough of a messiah complex to do Clark justice.
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Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I don't have enough of a messiah complex to do Clark justice.
In
Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I'm still shocked that we're over a week in and we don't have a Superman. Or a Fantastic Four. Or a Doom.
Someone do something about that.
Someone do something about that.
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Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Formatting must be a nightmare. I hate it enough as it is so I cant imagine having to do it on my phone.
Things would get broken.
Things would get broken.
The first day back had been hard. Antwan was used to being the center of attention at school but it was a different kind of attention than he’d become used to. Friends filed up to him one by one to pay their condolences to him and even kids he’d not spoken a word to or he knew hated his guts stopped to stay a word. It was unnerving, unnecessary even, but by recess things had gone back to normal. It was strange without Jayson there to eat his food with. Antwan didn’t know who to sit with or where to go so opted to remain in his homeroom to try to get some work done. Heck, if Jayson could see Antwan right now doing his work before the last second for once he’d have sworn the world was coming to an end. It was painful, lonely too, but Antwan was glad he’d gone to school instead of sitting in Roland’s house on his own.
The second day was more manageable. The condolences still came, teachers still took him to the side where he could to tell him they’d be there if they needed him, and the principal was still determined to shove counselor after counselor in Antwan’s direction to get him to talk about what had happened. They didn’t understand. There was nothing for Antwan to talk about. The only person he wanted to talk to at the moment was Jayson and Jayson was gone.
When he found out that it was DeSean Hamilton that had killed Jayson he’d wanted to tear the whole school down. They said he’d done it because Antwan humiliated him, because he felt helpless, and had been aiming for Antwan that night. Jayson had saved his life. It hurt him to think back to that night and how he’d not even taken the time to read the name on the back of DeSean’s jersey whilst he’d taunted him all night. DeSean hadn’t even existed to him and yet he’d taken Antwan’s best friend away from him over some trash talk. It was his mouth that had killed Jayson, not DeSean Hamilton, and that would be true to him for as long as he lived. He’d have to live with that.
So he endured the lonely days at schools and took what solace he could from Roland’s company at night. He’d toyed with the idea of going back to his mom’s house but the way she’d blown up at Roland at the hospital still ate away at him. A thousand things, including his mother, raced through Antwan’s mind in chemistry before the appearance of Vice-Principal Jamieson added another thing for Antwan to worry about. No doubt he was there to take him to another counselor or to suggest that he take some time to mourn.
Instead he took him to his office where Gus Harris and the sheriff’s deputy that had interrogated Antwan after he’d been pulled over were sat waiting for him. He took a seat and eyed them suspiciously. “What’s going on? Am I in trouble or something?”
Vice-Principal Jamieson shook his head, his big brown double chins flapping as he did so, and spoke in a deep velvety voice that Antwan had become well acquainted with over the past two days.
“It’s nothing to be worried about, Antwan, Deputy Calhoun here wants to ask you a couple of questions. That’s all.”
Calhoun, that had been her name, she was related to Coach Calhoun. Antwan pointed in Gus’ direction. “What’s he doing here then?”
Gus smiled at him. “Call it moral support.”
Antwan narrowed his eyes a little, confused and skeptical in equal measure. He’d told the police everything he had to tell them about Jayson’s shooting the day Roland had picked him up from the hospital.
Deputy Calhoun leant forward from her seat and smiled at Antwan. “When was the last time you spoke to Roland, Antwan?”
He frowned at her suspiciously, feigning anger to cover his nervousness. Roland was the nearest thing to a friend that Antwan had left now that Jayson was gone. That whole business with the cars and the weed was behind them and Roland had been there for him over the past couple of days. His mother had been so obsessed with turning Antwan against him that even as Antwan’s best friend laid dead she was still using it to attack him. Roland was all he had. If something had happened to him Antwan wasn’t sure how he’d cope.
“What’s happened?”
For a second Gus, sat slightly behind Deputy Calhoun, made eye contact with Antwan. “Just answer the question, son.”
From his voice Antwan could tell something was wrong.
“Yesterday afternoon? Something like that.”
Deputy Calhoun flicked open her notepad and began to scribble something down. “You haven’t heard from him since? Has he been in contact? Phone calls, text messages, anything?”
“Nothing,” Antwan muttered. “Not that I can remember.”
Again Gus piped up, though this time his voice was more forceful from the last time and there was a sense of urgency to it. “Think, Antwan.”
Something was definitely wrong. That day at the court Gus had seemed calm, serene, but there was something different to him this afternoon. The urgency in his voice made Antwan worried for Roland’s wellbeing. A deputy showing up in the middle of a school day asking questions couldn’t be a good thing and Gus being there only reinforced that to Antwan. His eyes darted around the room, from Calhoun, to Gus, to Jamieson, the ground, and back as Antwan tried to track his movements over the past few hours. Had he spoken to Roland? He couldn’t remember.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to check his texts and he nodded as one jogged his memory.
“Well, I text him last night and he didn’t respond,” Antwan said, lifting the phone up to them. “I thought it was pretty weird because usually he hits me back pretty quick. Used to clown him about how I’d never seen an old guy use a touch screen keyboard that fast before.”
Gus and Deputy Calhoun looked at one another for a second before Calhoun scribbled some more in her little notepad.
Antwan looked at them, awaiting a response. “That it? Can I go back to class?”
From behind his desk Vice-Principal Jamieson cleared his throat, pushed his chair back, and stood up from his seat. “Given the circumstances, we think it might be best if Deacon Harris and Deputy Calhoun escort you home. They want to ask your mother a few questions about Roland.”
“My moms? What? Why? What the hell is going on?”
Deputy Calhoun went to speak then looked at Gus for a few moments, he nodded reassuringly, and she turned back to Antwan. “There’s been a shooting, Antwan, the secretary at Roland’s tire business was found dead this morning and Roland’s missing.”
Antwan sat in silence for a second or two, completely unmoved by the information, before springing into life. He lifted the small coffee table in front of him off the ground with one arm and kicked over another small table by his side with all the force his lanky, six foot five frame could accomplish.
Deputy Calhoun sprung to her feet and extended a hand in Antwan’s direction to calm him. Beside her Gus had stood and had his hands out, palms facing downwards, trying to maintain eye contact with Antwan as he huffed and puffed in the centre of the room.
Antwan kicked out at the overturned coffee table again. “Fuck this town, man.”
From behind him a pair of hands rested themselves on his broad shoulders and Vice-Principal Jamieson directed Antwan back to his seat.
“Calm down, son.”
Antwan sat, breathing heavily, as tears began to appear in his eyes and his caramel skin became red and flustered. They weren’t tears of sadness or mourning but tears of rage. He balled his fists and slammed them against the top of his legs before burying his head in his hands. “First Jayson and now this? I hate this fucking place.”
“It’s okay,” Gus muttered sympathetically, rubbing Antwan’s back. “It’s going to be okay.”
Convinced he had calmed down, Deputy Calhoun breathed a sigh of relief and bent over to place the upturned coffee table back in its rightful position. From her knees she placed a hand on Antwan’s leg and smiled at him. “We’re going to take you home, okay? It’s the best place for you to be at the moment.”
Michelle Lewis watched as her son slinked towards his room without so much as a look in her direction. Disheartened, she gestured to Deputy Calhoun and Gus to take a seat at the small table in the kitchen. They did so, all three struggling to fit around the table, and Michelle looked at Calhoun and smiled at her nervously.
Not long after she’d got back from Dante’s apartment block word had reached her of a shooting taking place at Roland’s place. It wasn’t hard to work out who was responsible but given that she’d still been completely incapable of contacting her brother she wasn’t sure what to say or do. For the time being she reconciled herself to staying quiet. That meant playing dumb until she’d heard from Chew or Dante.
“Is something wrong with Antwan?”
“Antwan’s fine, Miss Lewis,” Deputy Calhoun said with a smile. “We stopped by the school to ask him a couple of questions and his Vice-Principal thought we ought to bring him home for the day given everything.”
Michelle feigned surprise. “Questions? Questions about what?”
Calhoun reached into the pocket of her khaki trousers and produced a small notepad that looked well used, setting it down on the table with a sigh, before looking back up at Michelle. There was something to the woman that Michelle couldn’t quite put her finger on. An earnestness that she’d not encountered in a warm body associated with the PCSD for a long time.
“You may or may not have seen the news by now but there was a fatal shooting at Spencer’s Tire and Rims last night. A Yolanda Thomas, Roland Spencer’s secretary, was shot dead in the early hours and we’re trying to find the perpetrators and find out Mr. Spencer’s whereabouts. We thought given your son’s association with Mr. Spencer it might be sensible to ask him a few questions.”
Again Michelle feigned surprise. “A shooting?”
From beside Calhoun she could feel the deacon’s gaze resting on her the entire time. She stole a glance in Gus’ direction for a section and his eyes, usually calm and soothing, looked suspicious. She smiled in his direction and he nodded at her politely without offering a smile back.
“Yes, ma’am,” Calhoun said, thumbing her way through her notepad. “You know Mr. Spencer, don’t you?”
Michelle nodded. “In passing.”
Gus shuffled a little beside Calhoun and for a second Michelle worried that he might reveal the extent to which she really knew Roland. Instead he stayed silent, though the look on his face was stony, and chose to listen in to Michelle and Calhoun’s conversation instead.
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
For a moment Michelle thought, though it was more to buy time than a need to traipse through memory lane to recall it, finally she nodded at Calhoun. “The night that Jayson Aaron was murdered.”
The deputy scribbled a few words in her black notebook.
“Do you have any idea why someone might want to harm Yolanda? Or Mr. Spencer for that matter?”
Why? Because he tried to take her son away from her and got Jayson Aaron killed, Michelle thought, trying desperately to keep her contempt for Roland showing. For a second her thoughts drifted this Yolanda woman that had got caught up in things and a pang of guilt hit her but it passed as quickly as it came.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Michelle said with a nonchalant shrug. “I never met this, Yolanda? And as much as Roland and I never got on, I’d certainly never want him shot or something. Is that what you think’s happened?”
Calhoun scribbled a few more lines in her notepad before looking up at Michelle with an absent nod. “We aren’t sure what’s happened.”
Michelle stared off into the distance for a few seconds in an attempt to feign trying to recall some detail that could be of use and then shook her head blankly at Calhoun. The deputy sighed, reached for notepad, and placed it into her pocket as she stood up from the little table.
“Look, I have a lot to get through today, plenty of questions still need asking, and I’ll need to account for this time at that, so why don’t I leave you my card and you can call me if anything else comes to mind? That sound agreeable?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card that Michelle stared at for half a second and then slipped into one of her pockets.
“Sure,” Michelle smiled. “That’s fine.”
She stood up from her seat to escort Calhoun and Gus out but noticed that the deacon had remained in his seat. The deputy looked back at him with a smile, pointing towards the exit. “You need a lift home, Gus?”
Gus smiled politely at her and shook his head. “It’s fine, I’ll stay a while.”
Deputy Calhoun shrugged her shoulders. Michelle looked at the deacon and his face had grown gravely serious and suspicious, his eyes fixed on hers pointedly. “I think Michelle and I need to have a little chat.”
Michelle walked the deputy to the door and wished her good luck in her search. She shut the door behind her slowly and began the walk back to the kitchen. Her palms were sweaty and her feet felt heavier with each step she took towards it. She wasn't sure how Gus knew, but somehow he did, and the was nothing she wanted to do than turn that corner and face him. She swallowed loudly and clenched her fist to disguise her shakings hands from him and then paced into the kitchen and sat opposite Gus. He stared at her with an incisive look of his face and began to shake his head.
Dante had always fucking hated the Bog. As far as he was concerned the place was a humid deathtrap. The only people that came down to the Bog out of choice were tweakers and hookers looking to take advantage of Johns from out of town. Well, them and people like Chew and Dante. Over the years they’d made more than their fair share of bodies disappear in the Bogs but Dante hadn’t been back since things had gone south in Georgia. He could barely remember his way around. Chew seemed to take to it like he’d never left the place. He always seemed to have an understanding of how the Bog worked which confused the fuck out of Dante given that Chew was as ghetto as they came. You could have given him a fire lighter and some gasoline and he’d still have struggled to light a fire in the wild. Yet here, amidst the tree frogs and the putrid looking waters, Chew seemed in his element.
They had ditched the car well away from the beaten path, where even they’d struggle to find it, and carried Roland for what had seemed like hours through the Bog. Chew had done most of the heavy lifting. Dante had struggled to keep up with him even with Roland on his shoulder due to the heat. It was bad enough in here normally but with a balaclava over his head Dante was dripping with sweat as they traipsed through the Bog in the darkness. Finally Chew came to a stop and pointed up at one of the abandoned houses that littered the place. Dante went ahead, readying his holster for action, and checked the place out to make sure it was empty before they went inside. Once in they tied Roland to a filthy chair and stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth to make sure he wouldn’t be making any noise when he came to. They took turns throughout the night to stand guard whilst they tried to figure out what their play was.
It was well into the afternoon that Roland came to and within minutes of having woken up he managed to rile Dante. Sat there, bloodied and bruised, he stared at Dante in the eye and though Roland was unable to speak he did his best to smile obnoxiously in Dante’s direction. For a time Dante ignored him but after twenty minutes or so of Roland’s stifled laughter it began to wear on him.
“Why the fuck are you smiling?”
Chew’s voice came from the corner of the room. “Calm down.”
He was sat on a dirty mattress, empty vials and bottles filled with piss scattered around the room, and his once pristine clean sneakers and track pants were caked with mud and God knows what. Ever since Dante had pulled that trigger on that Yolanda girl back at the showroom Chew had been acting funny with him. Dante figured that was on account of his not having been party to offing someone for a long while. Roland seemed to have all but ignored Chew in the corner sensing that Dante would be more receptive to his mind games.
“Fuck that,” Dante said, cocking his Glock and placing it beneath Roland’s chin. “Why the fuck are you smiling at me? You want me to blow your brains out or something? That what you want?”
Chew sighed heavily and pointed at Roland. “How is he meant to answer you with that rag in his mouth?”
Dante uncocked his Glock and yanked the filthy rag from Roland’s mouth.
“Speak.”
“You’re dead men,” Roland said, his laughter broken up by intermittent coughs. “Both of you are dead men.”
Undeterred Dante gestured towards the gun in his hand. “Oh? What makes you so sure of that? We’re the ones with the guns, motherfucker.”
Again Roland burst into another fit of obnoxious laughter but this time his coughing stopped him dead in his tracks, the force of them causing him to wince as if reminded him of the deep cuts on the top of his head.
“I tried to warn you back at the tire shop,” Spencer said with a shit-eating grin. “The place is a front for Billy Brown.”
Dante’s blood ran cold and he looked at Chew who hadn’t budged an inch at the news. Had he known? No, not even Chew was stupid enough to think that crossing Brown was a good idea. Not unless that prison had turned his brain to mush, which Dante hadn’t completely ruled out.
Dante grabbed a hold of one of Roland’s bloodied lapels. “What?”
“You heard me,” Roland said with a wry smile. “You really think we wouldn’t have CCTV unless we were connected? Give me some credit.”
How could they have been so stupid? All it would have taken was half an hour to make a couple of phone calls and Dante could have found all of this out on his own. Billy fucking Brown? There wasn’t a place in the whole county they could hide from that man. Dante shook his head and began to pace, taking care to avoid what he could only presume was human excrement on the ground, as he tried to get his head around what they’d done.
“Fuck,” Dante mumbled nervously. “We’re fucked. Once Billy gets word of this he’ll track us to the end of the world and back, man. You don’t cross Billy and live, no-one does, that’s the only fucking law in Pickett.”
There was a reason that Billy Brown had been able to run the Normans out of existence. The fucking Normans. They’d been in Pickett County for generations and Billy Brown damn near made them extinct. The sheriff’s office hadn’t been able to lay a glove on Billy in years and here Dante and Chew were, two men without an ounce of backup, shitting all over one of his employees.
“Calm down,” Chew said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He doesn’t know our names.”
Dante nodded, reassured slightly, for as long as that was the case there was a chance they’d get out of this caper without Billy murdering everyone they’d ever met. He looked at Roland, whose shit-eating grin had grown wider all of a sudden, and wondered what on Earth he could have done to warrant ending up here. It definitely didn’t warrant them losing their lives over it. No matter what it was. As Dante finally began to calm down and his breathing began to slow another laugh escaped from Roland’s lips.
“You heard the man,” Roland smiled. “Calm down, Dante.”
The second day was more manageable. The condolences still came, teachers still took him to the side where he could to tell him they’d be there if they needed him, and the principal was still determined to shove counselor after counselor in Antwan’s direction to get him to talk about what had happened. They didn’t understand. There was nothing for Antwan to talk about. The only person he wanted to talk to at the moment was Jayson and Jayson was gone.
When he found out that it was DeSean Hamilton that had killed Jayson he’d wanted to tear the whole school down. They said he’d done it because Antwan humiliated him, because he felt helpless, and had been aiming for Antwan that night. Jayson had saved his life. It hurt him to think back to that night and how he’d not even taken the time to read the name on the back of DeSean’s jersey whilst he’d taunted him all night. DeSean hadn’t even existed to him and yet he’d taken Antwan’s best friend away from him over some trash talk. It was his mouth that had killed Jayson, not DeSean Hamilton, and that would be true to him for as long as he lived. He’d have to live with that.
So he endured the lonely days at schools and took what solace he could from Roland’s company at night. He’d toyed with the idea of going back to his mom’s house but the way she’d blown up at Roland at the hospital still ate away at him. A thousand things, including his mother, raced through Antwan’s mind in chemistry before the appearance of Vice-Principal Jamieson added another thing for Antwan to worry about. No doubt he was there to take him to another counselor or to suggest that he take some time to mourn.
Instead he took him to his office where Gus Harris and the sheriff’s deputy that had interrogated Antwan after he’d been pulled over were sat waiting for him. He took a seat and eyed them suspiciously. “What’s going on? Am I in trouble or something?”
Vice-Principal Jamieson shook his head, his big brown double chins flapping as he did so, and spoke in a deep velvety voice that Antwan had become well acquainted with over the past two days.
“It’s nothing to be worried about, Antwan, Deputy Calhoun here wants to ask you a couple of questions. That’s all.”
Calhoun, that had been her name, she was related to Coach Calhoun. Antwan pointed in Gus’ direction. “What’s he doing here then?”
Gus smiled at him. “Call it moral support.”
Antwan narrowed his eyes a little, confused and skeptical in equal measure. He’d told the police everything he had to tell them about Jayson’s shooting the day Roland had picked him up from the hospital.
Deputy Calhoun leant forward from her seat and smiled at Antwan. “When was the last time you spoke to Roland, Antwan?”
He frowned at her suspiciously, feigning anger to cover his nervousness. Roland was the nearest thing to a friend that Antwan had left now that Jayson was gone. That whole business with the cars and the weed was behind them and Roland had been there for him over the past couple of days. His mother had been so obsessed with turning Antwan against him that even as Antwan’s best friend laid dead she was still using it to attack him. Roland was all he had. If something had happened to him Antwan wasn’t sure how he’d cope.
“What’s happened?”
For a second Gus, sat slightly behind Deputy Calhoun, made eye contact with Antwan. “Just answer the question, son.”
From his voice Antwan could tell something was wrong.
“Yesterday afternoon? Something like that.”
Deputy Calhoun flicked open her notepad and began to scribble something down. “You haven’t heard from him since? Has he been in contact? Phone calls, text messages, anything?”
“Nothing,” Antwan muttered. “Not that I can remember.”
Again Gus piped up, though this time his voice was more forceful from the last time and there was a sense of urgency to it. “Think, Antwan.”
Something was definitely wrong. That day at the court Gus had seemed calm, serene, but there was something different to him this afternoon. The urgency in his voice made Antwan worried for Roland’s wellbeing. A deputy showing up in the middle of a school day asking questions couldn’t be a good thing and Gus being there only reinforced that to Antwan. His eyes darted around the room, from Calhoun, to Gus, to Jamieson, the ground, and back as Antwan tried to track his movements over the past few hours. Had he spoken to Roland? He couldn’t remember.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to check his texts and he nodded as one jogged his memory.
“Well, I text him last night and he didn’t respond,” Antwan said, lifting the phone up to them. “I thought it was pretty weird because usually he hits me back pretty quick. Used to clown him about how I’d never seen an old guy use a touch screen keyboard that fast before.”
Gus and Deputy Calhoun looked at one another for a second before Calhoun scribbled some more in her little notepad.
Antwan looked at them, awaiting a response. “That it? Can I go back to class?”
From behind his desk Vice-Principal Jamieson cleared his throat, pushed his chair back, and stood up from his seat. “Given the circumstances, we think it might be best if Deacon Harris and Deputy Calhoun escort you home. They want to ask your mother a few questions about Roland.”
“My moms? What? Why? What the hell is going on?”
Deputy Calhoun went to speak then looked at Gus for a few moments, he nodded reassuringly, and she turned back to Antwan. “There’s been a shooting, Antwan, the secretary at Roland’s tire business was found dead this morning and Roland’s missing.”
Antwan sat in silence for a second or two, completely unmoved by the information, before springing into life. He lifted the small coffee table in front of him off the ground with one arm and kicked over another small table by his side with all the force his lanky, six foot five frame could accomplish.
Deputy Calhoun sprung to her feet and extended a hand in Antwan’s direction to calm him. Beside her Gus had stood and had his hands out, palms facing downwards, trying to maintain eye contact with Antwan as he huffed and puffed in the centre of the room.
Antwan kicked out at the overturned coffee table again. “Fuck this town, man.”
From behind him a pair of hands rested themselves on his broad shoulders and Vice-Principal Jamieson directed Antwan back to his seat.
“Calm down, son.”
Antwan sat, breathing heavily, as tears began to appear in his eyes and his caramel skin became red and flustered. They weren’t tears of sadness or mourning but tears of rage. He balled his fists and slammed them against the top of his legs before burying his head in his hands. “First Jayson and now this? I hate this fucking place.”
“It’s okay,” Gus muttered sympathetically, rubbing Antwan’s back. “It’s going to be okay.”
Convinced he had calmed down, Deputy Calhoun breathed a sigh of relief and bent over to place the upturned coffee table back in its rightful position. From her knees she placed a hand on Antwan’s leg and smiled at him. “We’re going to take you home, okay? It’s the best place for you to be at the moment.”
*****
Michelle Lewis watched as her son slinked towards his room without so much as a look in her direction. Disheartened, she gestured to Deputy Calhoun and Gus to take a seat at the small table in the kitchen. They did so, all three struggling to fit around the table, and Michelle looked at Calhoun and smiled at her nervously.
Not long after she’d got back from Dante’s apartment block word had reached her of a shooting taking place at Roland’s place. It wasn’t hard to work out who was responsible but given that she’d still been completely incapable of contacting her brother she wasn’t sure what to say or do. For the time being she reconciled herself to staying quiet. That meant playing dumb until she’d heard from Chew or Dante.
“Is something wrong with Antwan?”
“Antwan’s fine, Miss Lewis,” Deputy Calhoun said with a smile. “We stopped by the school to ask him a couple of questions and his Vice-Principal thought we ought to bring him home for the day given everything.”
Michelle feigned surprise. “Questions? Questions about what?”
Calhoun reached into the pocket of her khaki trousers and produced a small notepad that looked well used, setting it down on the table with a sigh, before looking back up at Michelle. There was something to the woman that Michelle couldn’t quite put her finger on. An earnestness that she’d not encountered in a warm body associated with the PCSD for a long time.
“You may or may not have seen the news by now but there was a fatal shooting at Spencer’s Tire and Rims last night. A Yolanda Thomas, Roland Spencer’s secretary, was shot dead in the early hours and we’re trying to find the perpetrators and find out Mr. Spencer’s whereabouts. We thought given your son’s association with Mr. Spencer it might be sensible to ask him a few questions.”
Again Michelle feigned surprise. “A shooting?”
From beside Calhoun she could feel the deacon’s gaze resting on her the entire time. She stole a glance in Gus’ direction for a section and his eyes, usually calm and soothing, looked suspicious. She smiled in his direction and he nodded at her politely without offering a smile back.
“Yes, ma’am,” Calhoun said, thumbing her way through her notepad. “You know Mr. Spencer, don’t you?”
Michelle nodded. “In passing.”
Gus shuffled a little beside Calhoun and for a second Michelle worried that he might reveal the extent to which she really knew Roland. Instead he stayed silent, though the look on his face was stony, and chose to listen in to Michelle and Calhoun’s conversation instead.
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
For a moment Michelle thought, though it was more to buy time than a need to traipse through memory lane to recall it, finally she nodded at Calhoun. “The night that Jayson Aaron was murdered.”
The deputy scribbled a few words in her black notebook.
“Do you have any idea why someone might want to harm Yolanda? Or Mr. Spencer for that matter?”
Why? Because he tried to take her son away from her and got Jayson Aaron killed, Michelle thought, trying desperately to keep her contempt for Roland showing. For a second her thoughts drifted this Yolanda woman that had got caught up in things and a pang of guilt hit her but it passed as quickly as it came.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Michelle said with a nonchalant shrug. “I never met this, Yolanda? And as much as Roland and I never got on, I’d certainly never want him shot or something. Is that what you think’s happened?”
Calhoun scribbled a few more lines in her notepad before looking up at Michelle with an absent nod. “We aren’t sure what’s happened.”
Michelle stared off into the distance for a few seconds in an attempt to feign trying to recall some detail that could be of use and then shook her head blankly at Calhoun. The deputy sighed, reached for notepad, and placed it into her pocket as she stood up from the little table.
“Look, I have a lot to get through today, plenty of questions still need asking, and I’ll need to account for this time at that, so why don’t I leave you my card and you can call me if anything else comes to mind? That sound agreeable?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card that Michelle stared at for half a second and then slipped into one of her pockets.
“Sure,” Michelle smiled. “That’s fine.”
She stood up from her seat to escort Calhoun and Gus out but noticed that the deacon had remained in his seat. The deputy looked back at him with a smile, pointing towards the exit. “You need a lift home, Gus?”
Gus smiled politely at her and shook his head. “It’s fine, I’ll stay a while.”
Deputy Calhoun shrugged her shoulders. Michelle looked at the deacon and his face had grown gravely serious and suspicious, his eyes fixed on hers pointedly. “I think Michelle and I need to have a little chat.”
Michelle walked the deputy to the door and wished her good luck in her search. She shut the door behind her slowly and began the walk back to the kitchen. Her palms were sweaty and her feet felt heavier with each step she took towards it. She wasn't sure how Gus knew, but somehow he did, and the was nothing she wanted to do than turn that corner and face him. She swallowed loudly and clenched her fist to disguise her shakings hands from him and then paced into the kitchen and sat opposite Gus. He stared at her with an incisive look of his face and began to shake his head.
*****
Dante had always fucking hated the Bog. As far as he was concerned the place was a humid deathtrap. The only people that came down to the Bog out of choice were tweakers and hookers looking to take advantage of Johns from out of town. Well, them and people like Chew and Dante. Over the years they’d made more than their fair share of bodies disappear in the Bogs but Dante hadn’t been back since things had gone south in Georgia. He could barely remember his way around. Chew seemed to take to it like he’d never left the place. He always seemed to have an understanding of how the Bog worked which confused the fuck out of Dante given that Chew was as ghetto as they came. You could have given him a fire lighter and some gasoline and he’d still have struggled to light a fire in the wild. Yet here, amidst the tree frogs and the putrid looking waters, Chew seemed in his element.
They had ditched the car well away from the beaten path, where even they’d struggle to find it, and carried Roland for what had seemed like hours through the Bog. Chew had done most of the heavy lifting. Dante had struggled to keep up with him even with Roland on his shoulder due to the heat. It was bad enough in here normally but with a balaclava over his head Dante was dripping with sweat as they traipsed through the Bog in the darkness. Finally Chew came to a stop and pointed up at one of the abandoned houses that littered the place. Dante went ahead, readying his holster for action, and checked the place out to make sure it was empty before they went inside. Once in they tied Roland to a filthy chair and stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth to make sure he wouldn’t be making any noise when he came to. They took turns throughout the night to stand guard whilst they tried to figure out what their play was.
It was well into the afternoon that Roland came to and within minutes of having woken up he managed to rile Dante. Sat there, bloodied and bruised, he stared at Dante in the eye and though Roland was unable to speak he did his best to smile obnoxiously in Dante’s direction. For a time Dante ignored him but after twenty minutes or so of Roland’s stifled laughter it began to wear on him.
“Why the fuck are you smiling?”
Chew’s voice came from the corner of the room. “Calm down.”
He was sat on a dirty mattress, empty vials and bottles filled with piss scattered around the room, and his once pristine clean sneakers and track pants were caked with mud and God knows what. Ever since Dante had pulled that trigger on that Yolanda girl back at the showroom Chew had been acting funny with him. Dante figured that was on account of his not having been party to offing someone for a long while. Roland seemed to have all but ignored Chew in the corner sensing that Dante would be more receptive to his mind games.
“Fuck that,” Dante said, cocking his Glock and placing it beneath Roland’s chin. “Why the fuck are you smiling at me? You want me to blow your brains out or something? That what you want?”
Chew sighed heavily and pointed at Roland. “How is he meant to answer you with that rag in his mouth?”
Dante uncocked his Glock and yanked the filthy rag from Roland’s mouth.
“Speak.”
“You’re dead men,” Roland said, his laughter broken up by intermittent coughs. “Both of you are dead men.”
Undeterred Dante gestured towards the gun in his hand. “Oh? What makes you so sure of that? We’re the ones with the guns, motherfucker.”
Again Roland burst into another fit of obnoxious laughter but this time his coughing stopped him dead in his tracks, the force of them causing him to wince as if reminded him of the deep cuts on the top of his head.
“I tried to warn you back at the tire shop,” Spencer said with a shit-eating grin. “The place is a front for Billy Brown.”
Dante’s blood ran cold and he looked at Chew who hadn’t budged an inch at the news. Had he known? No, not even Chew was stupid enough to think that crossing Brown was a good idea. Not unless that prison had turned his brain to mush, which Dante hadn’t completely ruled out.
Dante grabbed a hold of one of Roland’s bloodied lapels. “What?”
“You heard me,” Roland said with a wry smile. “You really think we wouldn’t have CCTV unless we were connected? Give me some credit.”
How could they have been so stupid? All it would have taken was half an hour to make a couple of phone calls and Dante could have found all of this out on his own. Billy fucking Brown? There wasn’t a place in the whole county they could hide from that man. Dante shook his head and began to pace, taking care to avoid what he could only presume was human excrement on the ground, as he tried to get his head around what they’d done.
“Fuck,” Dante mumbled nervously. “We’re fucked. Once Billy gets word of this he’ll track us to the end of the world and back, man. You don’t cross Billy and live, no-one does, that’s the only fucking law in Pickett.”
There was a reason that Billy Brown had been able to run the Normans out of existence. The fucking Normans. They’d been in Pickett County for generations and Billy Brown damn near made them extinct. The sheriff’s office hadn’t been able to lay a glove on Billy in years and here Dante and Chew were, two men without an ounce of backup, shitting all over one of his employees.
“Calm down,” Chew said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He doesn’t know our names.”
Dante nodded, reassured slightly, for as long as that was the case there was a chance they’d get out of this caper without Billy murdering everyone they’d ever met. He looked at Roland, whose shit-eating grin had grown wider all of a sudden, and wondered what on Earth he could have done to warrant ending up here. It definitely didn’t warrant them losing their lives over it. No matter what it was. As Dante finally began to calm down and his breathing began to slow another laugh escaped from Roland’s lips.
“You heard the man,” Roland smiled. “Calm down, Dante.”
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Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@Hillan You fickle bitch.
Way too busy to add another roleplay like this one.Wish I had the time.
You know where we are if you manage to find the time one of these days.
Yeah I'm stuck waiting on Loki for Iron Man, Angel Vicky to return for the Fantastic Four, and anyone for Quicksilver considering the plans I had for him.
I was considering making a RP in the meantime because I am so boooorrrrreeeeeedddddddd...
If only there were another comic book game in the advanced section willing to show you a little love.
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Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
| CURRENT MEMBERS: |Peter Quill aka Star-Lord
Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran aka Starfire
Tigorr
Rocket
Groot
| FOUNDER: |Yondu Udonta
| ORIGIN & BACKSTORY: |Based in the Andromeda Galaxy, the Guardians of the Galaxy are freedom fighters formed by a diverse group of beings. The founding members are Yondo Udonta of Alpha Centauri, Charis-Nar, Thaddeus Bach and the Kryptonian H'el. Founded in order to bring the wealth of the empire to rim planets, the Guardians of the Galaxy operated as a sort of cosmic Robin Hood.
The Guardians of the Galaxy started nearly forty standard galactic years ago. During this time, the Centauri known as Yondu was operating as a rogue agent, hired by the planet Rann to transport much needed medical supplies through a Thanagarian blockade during the height of the Rann/Thanagar War. Imprisoned on the planet Spartax, Yondu found himsefl shackled alongside a Spartoi by the name of J'Son. Forging an alliance, Yondu and J'Son managed to create a prison break. During the chaos, Yondu encountered the Kryptonian H'el who too had been captured by the Thangarians. Once they had escaped from the Thanagarian prison, J'Son revealled himself to be the heir to the Spartoi throne and enlisted further help from Yondu and H'el in order to free his planet from Thanagarian control.
As a token of his thanks, J'Son gifted Yondu with a new ship, the Aurora. Departing from Spartax with H'el in tow, Yondu returned to his original mission to help the people of Rann, taking the fight to the Thanagarians. Ambushing a prison transport, Yondu and H'el release those taken by the Thanagarian army as well as finding sympathizers in Thaddeus Bach and Charis-Nar. A former peace keeper on his homeworld of Eiodolon, Thaddeus Bach brought a lot to the team while Charis-Nar, or Broot as he was often referred to as brought the team unhinged power almost able to rival that of H'el.
Striking at the Thanagarian army using guerilla techniques, the team became known as the Guardians of the Galaxy by those they protected. Striking out of the darkness of space in the Aurora, the Guardians could even managed to down a Thanagarian battlecruiser which crippled the blockade. This of course led to the begining of the end as Rann managed to gain a foot hold against the Thanagarians and drive them back to their own system. With Rann on its way to becoming independent again, Thaddeus decided to go his own way as the remaining Guardians wandered the galaxy in search of jobs and adventure.
Encountering a distress call, the crew of the Aurora encountered a small craft of Terran origin. Inside was an alien being which identified itself as Cosmo, a Cosmonaut of the Soviet Union. Originally a test animal, Cosmo, was a creature referred to on Terra as a dog , who was launched into space where his craft passed through a temporal anomally. This anomally exposed Cosmo to an intense form of cosmic radiation which mutated him, granting him telepathy and enhanced cognitive abilities.Taking Thaddeus' place among the crew, Cosmo proved to be a valuable asset to the Guardians throughout their adventures.
Running the rim worlds smuggling goods and liberating wealth from the Kree, Shi'ar and Skrull empires, the Guardians picked up a notorious reputation. This attracted the attention of those who hired the assassin Gamora. Despite an attempt on Yondu's life, Gamora was ultimately thrawted by Pren NuParr. Indebted, Yondu welcomed Pren to the crew of the Aurora while Gamora was revealled to be a double agent who in turn also joined the Guardians albeit not without several degrees of mistrust.
Feeling betrayed when Yondu promoted Pren as his successor, H'el departed the group citing a need to return home. Under the leadership of Pren, the Guardians turned their attention to the Vega System. Unfortunately for Pren, the Guardains infamy had travelled to the the ruling Citadel. In response of what they could only imagine was an attempt by the Guardians to break their authority, the Citadel allied itself with Thanagar recruiting their warbirds to defend against the Guardians' tactics. Outgunned and out-manuevered, the Guardains recruited a new wild card member, a Czarnian by the name of Lobo. Despite this, the Aurora was still destroyed and the surviving members of the Guardians disbanded.
With the Guardians gone, the former leader, Yondu Undonta started a gang of space pirates in the Andromeda Galaxy, far from those who knew him in the Milky Way Galaxy. Naming his new crew the Ravagers, Yondu stayed away from getting involved in the disputes of other worlds and instead became a 'Procurer of Property', or rather a thief. Performing odd jobs across the galaxy, Yondu was eventually contacted by J'Son of Spartax once again who requested a special delivery from Terra. The package turned out to be a ten year old boy by the name of Peter Quill. However seeing the state of Spartax, Yondu decided to keep the boy and raise him himself. Over the next fifteen years, Yondu passed everything he learned onto the boy.
Having grown up under the guidance of Yondu, it came at no one's surprise that Peter Quill would become the newest member of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Unfortunately for Peter, he had to start over much like Yondu did originally. Locating the wreck of the Aurora, Peter had it retrofitted and restored the M-Ship, redubbing it the Milano after his Terran childhood crush. With a ship, Peter headed out into the galaxy, journying to Knowhere in order to gain allies and put together a crew not knowing there was still those who would seek to destroy any who referred to themselves as a Guardian of the Galaxy.
| BIOGRAPHIES: |
| ATTRIBUTES: |The Guardians are comprised of a number of various races each with their own unique traits. Furthermore, each individual has lived colourful lives, acquiring a great number of specialized skills. Above all else however, the Guardians are all survivors often having seen the worse the universe has to offer. Below is an outline of their individual gifts.
| CHARACTER NOTES: |
| CHARACTER GOALS: |My goal with the Guardians is to intertwine them in a variety of galactic adventures in the style of Star Wars, Guardians of the Galaxy and Firefly. A small crew not siding with a higher power, fighting to survive and maybe for their own personal gain. I aim to put the spot light on the various Guardians throughout their adventures starting with Starfire and then moving on from there.
| REFERENCES: |
Who do I need to bribe to get an application accepted around here? This game needs a humanoid tiger in it already.
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
If Guildfall happened I'd never know whether my Ric Flair application was accepted.
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.
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.”
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.”
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.
*****
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.”
*****
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.”
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