Free The Heart of an Assassin by Tony Bertot Page B

nothing,” responded Tyler.
    They had been called to investigate a
shooting on 120th and St. Nicholas. The neighborhood had not
changed as much as Tyler thought it would. Crime had gone up, but
for some reason, this area remained almost untouched by the
increase. This was the first time they were called to his old
neighborhood since his assignment to this precinct.
    There were several police cars already on the
scene cornering off the area. Tyler walked over while Eric was
getting the details from the first officer on the scene. A young
black man was face down in a pool of blood. It appeared he had been
gunned down as he ran from his assailant; there were two gunshot
wounds in his back. A bag of groceries lay scattered on the ground
just ahead of the victim.
    Tyler examined the position of the body and
the surrounding area. The victim was not wearing colors (scarf,
belt, or jacket), which would indicate whether or not he belonged
to a local gang.
    Eric joined Tyler after a while. “Vic’s name
is Jimmy Johnson Junior, lives over at 222 St. Nicholas. Someone
said they think the Spades, a local gang, did the shooting. But
they aren’t sure,” Eric said.
    Tyler stared at Eric for a few seconds. “Did
you say Jimmy Johnson Junior?” Tyler asked.
    “Uh . . . Yes. Why? You know him?” asked
Eric.
    “Maybe.” Tyler, who had been squatting over
the body, got up and started for 222 St. Nicholas, followed by
Eric.
    As he stood in front of the building, the
memory of his painful past resurfaced. They used to hang out on
this stoop. He, Charlie, Jimmy, Davie, and a few other friends
whose names he no longer remembered.
    He walked up the stairs and rang the Johnson
bell to gain entry into the building. “Hello, who’s there?” someone
asked though the intercom.
    “Ma’am, it’s the police. I’d like to talk to
you,” Tyler said. The bell on the door rang, and they were let
in.
    While Tyler and Eric climbed the two stories
to apartment 2A, Tyler felt a sickening feeling inside. He had been
here before, a long time ago. The door was opened, and they stepped
into a neat apartment.
    Mrs. Johnson was sitting in the living room
to their left, and they approached her. “Ma’am, I am Detective
Santiago and this is Detective Thomas. Do you have a son named
Jimmy Johnson?” Tyler asked.
    “Yes, is something wrong?” she inquired.
    Tyler approached Mrs. Johnson and sat in a
chair beside her.“I am so sorry, ma’am, but your son was shot and
killed,” Eric said.
    There was silence. Mrs. Johnson sat there
staring at them, then said, “My son died over ten years ago, young
man. That was my grandson,” she responded. “Why, he was a good boy,
never got into trouble, was doing real good in school. Why?”
    Tyler looked at her and knew what she was
going through. He knelt down facing her. “I am so sorry,” he
said.
    She looked into his eyes, staring, and then
reached out for him. “Oh my God, Tyler, it’s you. Oh my God, I know
how hard this is for you,” she said. They both embraced each other
and remained that way for a few minutes.
    Eric did not know what was going on, but
stepped out into the hallway. Leave it alone, he thought to
himself.
    When he heard Tyler begin to question Mrs.
Johnson, he went in and found him still kneeling in front of her;
the tears in his eyes had dried up. Eric did not interfere. He
simply waited until Tyler was through with the questioning.
    When Tyler got up, he grasped her hands and
gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You are in my prayers,” he said to
her.
    “And you in mine,” she responded. Tyler and
Eric took their leave.
    A few minutes later, they were walking toward
their car. Tyler informed the paramedics, who were now loading the
body into their ambulance, to advise the coroner that he would be
helping with the arrangements on behalf of the family and gave them
his card.
    “Give me the keys,” Tyler told Eric with an
outstretched hand, indicating that he toss him the keys.