Split Black /#Wattys 2021

Chapter Three

"Looking for a CI named George Evan Clay," said John. "I thought it was strange, because phone records have him calling Pride at home, and Clay lives here as far as I know. Does he work for you?"

"There's a tale," Edwards sank into his desk chair. It squeaked as he leaned back. "How much time you got?"

"All night, if that's what it takes," said John.

Edwards squeaked closer to his computer. "G. Evan Clay," he announced, pecking at his keyboard. "One prior, pimping girls out near the White Rabbit on Pembroke. Do not call him 'George.' Street name 'Cabbage.' Think it has to do with the hair."

A mug shot of a ruggedly handsome, blond Caucasian youth with a cleft chin popped onscreen. His unruly mop of beachy waves did look a little like a cabbage.

"Twenty-three last September," said Edwards. "This guy grew up in Ridley Circle Homes in 'Newport Bad News,' same as Michael Vick. Had to be the only white kid in the place. Lived with his grandmother. Graduated from Heritage in 2005, straight A student. Smart kid. Think I've got a picture of him at thirteen in here somewhere. Yeah."

A picture of an unbearably cute, short, skinny thirteen-year-old replaced the cabbage picture. It looked like it had come from a school yearbook. Little Evan Clay stood against a brick wall with a few classmates, distinguished from the other children as much by his shorter height as by his shining white skin. Only his hair was the same.

"'Course you know, in places like Ridley Circle Homes and Dickerson Court, a little white kid is going to get hassled."

"Let me guess," John said. "He's in Dump Squad." Dump Squad was the East End Newport News chapter of the Bloods street gang.

"No," said Edwards, and looked over his shoulder.

"No?" John raised his eyebrows.

Edwards waited a beat, then said, "He's a Slump Mobber." Slump Mobb and the Bang Gang were the two smaller gangs in the East End.

"Evan tried out for basketball and football at Heritage, but he wasn't ever going to be good enough to get a scholarship, so he went out for wrestling and judo instead." Edwards popped up another picture. The skinny thirteen-year-old had grown over two feet and put on muscle like the Incredible Hulk. "Thugs started leaving the guy alone about this time. 'Less they had a firearm or two. Clay was dealing his own little dope business at Heritage and at Warwick High School, and you know Strych likes to rob fellow dealers."

John nodded. "Strych" was short for "Strychnine," the infamous leader of the Dump Squad gang, who'd been brought up on way too many felony charges that never stuck. Every so often one would hit the papers here, and sometimes even in Richmond.

Edwards turned in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "You heard of Safe Streets Peninsula Task Force, run out of the FBI office in Newport News?"

"When a police station gets firebombed, it's hard not to hear about it," said John. Harbor Homes was another low-income project next to Dickerson Court, and last year local gang members had set fire to a police substation there. For decades it had been business as usual in the East End, but a recent spate of murders attributed to Strych plus a police station firebombing had been too much. The Safe Streets Peninsula Task Force had been formed, made up of Newport News PD officers, the FBI, and federal and state prosecutors.

"You're looking at the only member from Hampton PD," said Edwards. He tapped his keyboard and turned his squeaky chair around. Incredible Hulk Clay glowered over his shoulder.