“There was a shooting over at your grandparents’ house. We called the police, and they’re over there now. My wife just told me that they took Mother Bloom away in an ambulance but... hmmm, well, we don’t know exactly what happened to Elder Bloom. You should come now.”
Without a word, Saddam threw his drinking glass against the wall, sending crystal shrapnel flying. A few curious customers turned to look at him as he stormed out of the bar without paying his tab. Saddam hopped on his motorcycle that was parked in front and peeled off toward Ensom City.
Luckily for Saddam, he was just a few miles away in Central Village, Spanish Town. With his motorcycle eating up the road, Saddam zoomed into Ensom City in less than twenty minutes after he got the call.
Red, white, and blue flashing lights from police cars lit up the block. The crowd parted as Saddam slowly rode up to his home, a look of disbelief on his face. He’d had his own house since he was twenty years old, but this was home for him. As if in a trance, he parked the motorcycle on the street and walked toward the house.
“Stop right there.” A policeman planted himself in front of Saddam. “Who are you, sir?”
“My-my-my grandparents.” Saddam pointed toward the house. The tears escaped down his face. “Where are they?”
The policeman’s eyes were filled with sympathy. “Well, your grandmother was taken to Spanish Town Hospital for observation. She fainted, and we wanted to make sure she was okay.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Mmmm, there was a little—”
“Where is Dadda?” Saddam snapped, his chest rising and falling, his breathing labored.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but your grandfather was killed.” The officer reached out and grabbed Saddam’s arm when he stumbled backward.
“Let me go,” Saddam barked and rushed toward the house. But at least five police officers blocked his entrance.
“You can’t go in there, sir,” one policeman stated.
“This is now a crime scene, sir,” a kind-looking policewoman added. “We can’t allow you inside until we have completed our investigation.”
Saddam kicked and screamed, trying to force his way through the barricade of officers. It took four policemen to hold him down until King Kong drove up. A few whispered words from his boss calmed Saddam... somewhat. The anger then gave way to despair as Saddam mourned the man who had raised him.
“Dadda! They killed Dadda!” Saddam marched up and down the driveway of his grandparents’ house, bawling unashamedly. “Woieeee.”
Soon, Saddam crumbled to the ground, his feet no longer able to hold up his huge body. The police and onlookers stared at the grown man weeping like a child. Most of them knew Saddam the thug and were surprised at the display of his vulnerability.
“Saddam, what’s the news, man?” King Kong asked. “What happened to the stuff?” he whispered in Saddam’s ear. His concern was for his drugs and money, not the murdered old man.
“Come on, let me help you up.” Phil ignored King Kong, reached down, and grabbed his friend’s arm. “Take it slow. Here you go.” He pulled Saddam to his feet and gave him a brief hug before pulling back. The two men had been partners in crime since their early teens.
“Dadda. They killed Dadda,” Saddam cried, the mucus and salty mixture gushing down his face. “Dadda is gone, Phil.”
“I’m sorry, man.” Phil handed Saddam his handkerchief. “Where’s Mother Bloom?”
“The hospital. They said she fainted.” Saddam ran the handkerchief one time down his wet face, leaving some residue behind, his crying tapering off to sniffles.
Phil replied, “We’ll go—”
“Ahem.”
Phil and Saddam turned their heads to see King Kong’s ugly face bent out of shape.
“Look, Saddam. I feel for you, my brother.” King Kong stepped closer to the two men. “Elder Bloom was a nice man, and we’ll get his killer. But right now, I want to know where my stuff is.”
Saddam hung his head, his fists folded, breathing in and out through his mouth. He was close to beating down his insensitive boss like he was the one who killed his grandfather. Huffing and puffing, Saddam trudged off toward the house again.
Phil shot King Kong an “I can’t believe you” look, which he ignored. “King, let’s deal with that later. Our people are inside, and we should get some word soon.” He nodded toward a detective who was on King Kong’s payroll.
Earlier, King Kong was home relaxing when the detective called to tell him about the shooting. Part of the detective’s job was to patrol the Blooms’ neighborhood to keep an eye on things.
“What?” King Kong had screamed into the phone. “Who? When? Did they take anything? Where are you?” He was flabbergasted.
“I was working a homicide in Eltham Park,” the detective informed King Kong. “I’m en route now, but other cops are already there.”
King Kong fired off a slew of curse words. “Keep close and find out what happened!” He pressed the end button on his cell phone before dialing another number. “Come get me now,” King Kong yelled when Phil answered. “Shooting went down in Spain.”
Phil was there in fifteen minutes, and half an hour later, the men pulled up and parked across the street from the Blooms’ residence.
King Kong’s heart fell as he walked toward the house and saw the number of police scurrying around. He wouldn’t get a chance anytime soon to check for his drugs and money. In his mind, King Kong felt they were gone, but he still held out hope. After all, only a few people knew about his stash. If Elder Bloom got killed, it was safe to assume he put up a fight to prevent the robbers from getting access to the stuff.
“My goods better be in there,” King Kong complained to Phil after Saddam left. “You know if we lose this, we’re in big trouble.”
Phil nodded and replied, “I know, but it’s not the right time to hassle Saddam. His grandfather was just killed.”
King Kong sucked his teeth without sympathy. Fear and anxiety filled his eyes. “I owe people a lot of money for that shipment. The money from the last six months is in that house. I cannot lose that,” he hissed. He turned to stare at the action a few feet away.
The house was taped off as detectives from the Spanish Town Police Station went in and out, searching for clues to the murder of the gentle, kindhearted, Christian man. The couple lived in a very nice house, but they didn’t have anything worth killing for.
“I bet it’s some crackhead who knew that they lived alone,” King Kong lied to the police when questioned.
Detective Stone frowned. “From what we can see so far, nothing obvious was taken. The television and other electronics are here. Mother Bloom’s jewelry box with a few nice gold pieces is still on her dresser. Of course, we’re not finished yet.” He ran a hand over his smooth bald head.
“Nothing was taken?” King Kong’s eyes lit up. “No furniture—”
“Maybe Elder Bloom prevented them from robbing the house,” Phil remarked, discreetly stepping on King Kong’s toe. “That would explain why they killed him.”
Detective Stone bobbed his head and said, “You could be right. This could be a random burglary that went wrong.” He was young and just became a detective a few months earlier. “But I’m going to solve this one.” The hunger showed in his eyes. Detective Stone had to prove himself worthy of this position. “Whatever happened here tonight, I’ll find out.” He turned on his heels and marched back to the house.
“Anything new?” Detective Stone asked as he walked into