Roses Are Red

Chapter Sixty-Eight

My beeper went off late the following night at the house. It was Sampson. "All hell is breaking loose," he said. "Seriously, Alex."

"Where are you?" I asked.

"I'm with Rakeem Powell right now. We're over at the East Capitol Dwellings. One of his snitches gave us something good. We might have located Mitchell Brand."

"What's the problem then?" I asked.

"Rakeem called his lieutenant. The lou called the Jefe. Chief Pittman has half of DC on the way here now."

I think I actually saw red at that moment," It's still my goddamn case. Pittman didn't contact me."

"That's why I'm calling you, sugar. Better burn on over here."

I met Sampson at the East Capitol Dwellings housing project. According to the snitch, Brand was holed up there. East Capitol Dwellings are what I've heard called a ‘subsidized human warehouse." Actually, the project looks like a failed prison. Cold, white cinder-block fences surround bunkerlike buildings. It's thoroughly depressing and not atypical of housing in much of Southeast. The poor people who live here do the best they can under the circumstances.

"This has gotten out of control, Alex," Sampson complained once we were together in one of the dirt-patch yards separating the project buildings. "Way too much firepower here. Too many cooks in the kitchen. The chief of detectives strikes again."

I looked around, shook my head and cursed under my breath. It was a goddamn zoo. I saw SWAT personnel and several homicide detectives. Plus the usual neighborhood looky-loos. Mitchell Brand. Jesus. Could he possibly be the Mastermind?

I quickly put on a Kevlar vest. I checked my Clock. Then I went and talked to the chief of detectives. I reminded Pittman that this was my case, and he couldn't argue with that. I could tell he was surprised that I was at the scene, though.

"I'll take it from here," I said.

"We've got Brand all set up. Just don't fuck it up," Pittman finally snarled, then walked away from me.