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Tony Harris looked to where he was pointing.
“What?” Harris said.
The image of Raychell Meadow, standing on the sidewalk in front of the hospital, cut away to surveillance footage from the emergency room entrance that showed the EMTs rushing to the crashed sedan with shot-out windows.
The ticker of text at the bottom of the screen read HOMICIDE SGT. PAINE HAS BEEN MOVED OUT OF THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT AND IS EXPECTED TO FULLY RECOVER FROM HIS WOUNDS.
“I bet that was intentional!” Payne said. “Damn it!”
Payne then pointed to the wall of windows that overlooked Broad Street.
“If I could get one of those open, I bet I could hit her with my bedpan from here.”
“What?” Harris repeated.
“That hack reporter bimbo spelled my name wrong!”
Harris looked, then chuckled.
“She probably would have left off the e, too,” he said. “Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to be concerned about the important things now.”
Harris held up his right hand, fingers fanned out and thumb folded.
“Four what?”
“Four hours Daquan was in surgery. The ER works miracles here.”
Payne nodded. “He got hit in both lungs and his liver. But he’s gonna be fine.”
Harris folded all but his index finger.
“What?” Payne said. “You’re now asking permission to use the head?”
Harris ignored that: “And one deathbed confession. Daquan warned his mother to be careful of Hooks.”
“Why? He told me ‘word on the street’ was Hooks knew who capped Pookie.”
“That’s because he had it done—Pookie was skimming from the drugs he sold in Needle Park and owed Hooks money. And Hooks took out Dante because he got cold feet being part of the casino heist and was afraid to talk. Hooks gave Daquan part of the diamonds from the robbery as a bribe—the message being ‘Don’t talk and I’ll take care of you.’”
“He lied to me, or at least wasn’t truthful about that damn ear stud,” Payne said, shaking his head. “Sonofabitch! No good deed goes u
npunished.”
“Hard to blame him, Matt. Not sure he had a choice, considering he knew what happened to his cousin. Daquan, I think, was trying to walk the straight and narrow. But Rayvorris Oliver—your big fan Ray-Ray, homicide number 372—decided the diamond stud meant Daquan was going to get Pookie’s turf in Needle Park, which he thought he deserved, paid a visit to the diner, and . . . Well, here you are, Marshal Earp.”
Raychell Meadow came back onscreen.
“Why are we watching this channel?” Payne said, disgusted. “I think I’d rather be back in my drug-induced fog.”
Raychell Meadow, her tone highly dramatic, said: “In a horrific twist of fate, the Reverend Josiah Cross, who was said to have dodged death after gunfire erupted at his Stop Killadelphia Rally on Saturday, was killed yesterday morning. Police report that a forklift unloading a semitrailer full of frozen turkeys to be distributed for Feed Philly Day dropped a pallet carrying a hundred turkeys estimated to weigh more than one ton. The Philadelphia medical examiner’s office said death from blunt force trauma was instant.”
The screen then showed a pudgy male’s face.
“Ah, now there’s one of our fair city’s shining stars,” Payne said, “attempting to appear mournful.”
Raychell Meadow’s voice-over said: “Philadelphia City Councilman (At Large) H. Rapp Badde, who sponsors the annual event at the Word of Brotherly Love Ministry in Strawberry Mansion, issued a brief statement . . .”
Onscreen, Badde then said: “It’s truly a tragic day for our city to lose such a strong supporter of our citizens. He will be terribly missed, but we take comfort in the fact that he passed as he was performing yet another service to our people. Knowing him as well as I do, I know he would want this ministry to continue. And it will, including the Feed Philly Day, which will take place tomorrow, during which we will give thanks and prayers for all of Reverend Cross’s blessings. I hope to see everyone there.”
