“Detective!” The others lifted their glasses to toast.

“Let’s hurry up and put this bitch in the poorhouse,” Cleaver added.

The others around the table laughed.

Terrell walked to the door and pounded on it forcefully. He hated being in Richard Allen, especially on a day like today, when he had business to take care of. There was always some stupid-ass niggas wanting to stare you down or eyeball you like they’re hard. And when you played the game with them, it almost always led to a gunfight. He had no time for that kind of bullshit today. No, today he was on a mission. He needed to handle his business and keep it moving. Gah Git opened the front door.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for her.” Terrell held up the photo that he had of Gena.

“Her?” Gah Git eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Your granddaughter.”

“I don’t have my glasses on. You got a name?”

Terrell smiled. “Gena. I’m looking for Gena.”

“Oh, well, Gena don’t live here no more. What’s your name? If she calls I’ll tell her you came by. If you want you can leave me your phone number for her.”

“I heard that she does live here.”

“Well, you heard wrong, son.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to play games with me, would you?” Terrell asked. “She’s not inside hiding or anything like that, right?”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Now, I said she ain’t here and she don’t live here, and don’t you come back here no more,” Gah Git said, trying to slam the door in his face, but Terrell stuck his foot in the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gah Git shouted. “Gary! Gary!”

Terrell shoved the door open, knocking Gah Git onto the floor. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Get the hell outta my house!” Gah Git shouted. “Gary!”

Gary ran down the stairs. “What the fuck is going on?” He leaned forward and helped his grandmother up. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Where’s Gena?” Terrell demanded. “Is she here?”

“Nigga, you better get the fuck outta here!” Gary told him.

Terrell shoved Gary out of the way and walked into the kitchen.

“Nigga, I said get the fuck outta my grandmom’s house!” Gary shouted. He charged Terrell.

Terrell backhanded Gary, and then clasped his hand around Gary’s throat. Gary gripped Terrell’s hand and struggled to free himself. Terrell tossed Gary aside like a rag doll, sending him flying over the living-room coffee table.

“Oh, my God, Gary! Gary, you okay?” asked Gah Git, running to her grandson’s side. “Get the hell outta here!” Gah Git shouted.

Gary rose and charged Terrell again. Terrell punched Gary in his stomach, dropping him to the floor. He kicked Gary in his stomach, and then pulled out his pistol.

“I’m tired of this bullshit! Where the fuck is she?”

“Oh, my God, no, please! Oh, God, please don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!” Gah Git pleaded.

Terrell turned the pistol backward and struck Gah Git across her jaw. “Where the fuck is she?”

Gah Git fell to the floor again.

“Where the fuck is she?” Terrell asked, striking Gah Git with the pistol once again.

Gary tried to rise. “Leave her alone!”

Terrell struck Gah Git across her face again, and then kicked her in her stomach. Gary braced himself and stood back up to charge Terrell, but before he could, Terrell turned around with the pistol in his hand and fired a shot into Gary’s stomach. “Lay down, bitch!”

Gary flew back into an end table, knocking over a lamp. Terrell turned his attention back to a crying Gah Git.

“Where is she, old woman?”

“I don’t know…”

Terrell gripped Gah Git’s hair and pulled her face up toward his. “How do you get in touch with her?”

“She just comes by!” Gah Git shouted.

Terrell struck her with the handle of his pistol several times, causing blood to pour from her head, her nose, and her mouth. “Wrong answer, old woman!”

Terrell continued to beat Gah Git with the pistol until she was unconscious. He then began to search the apartment. Terrell tore through the place, ransacking it in the process. He searched drawers for an address or a telephone number that would lead him to Gena. He found none. By the time he returned downstairs, Gah Git was awake and dragging her bloody, beaten, and bruised body into the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall.

“Well, well, well.” Terrell smiled. “Where are we going?”

“No, please…” Gah Git begged. “Just go. My grandbaby needs an ambulance. Please…”

“Call her,” Terrell said sternly.

“What?”

“Pick up the goddamned telephone and call Gena!”

“I don’t have her number! I swear to the good Lord, I don’t have no number for that chile!”

Terrell grabbed Gah Git by her hair and bent her over the kitchen table. “When you see her, I want you to give her a message for me.”

“Okay.”

“Tell her I said this.” Terrell lifted Gah Git’s housecoat in the back and ripped off her underwear. Gah Git screamed like a wild animal, but Terrell covered her mouth as he forced himself inside her. He ravaged her violently, though what seemed to last a lifetime lasted only four minutes. Gah Git had found herself at some low times in her life, but somehow, she had always made it through. She had always found strength in her God.

Once her assailant left the apartment, Gah Git crawled up to the telephone and dialed 911. She then crawled into the living room, lifted Gary’s head into her bloody lap, and talked to him to keep him from going into shock. The entire time she waited, she couldn’t help but call to God. You gonna have to carry me through this, carry me on. Why, God, why? Please don’t let my grandbaby die in here today; take me, Lord, take me, but don’t take my grandbaby; don’t take him.

Joshua Harbinger had been in the Federal Bureau of Investigations for the last eight years of his life. He had graduated from Harvard in the top of his class at the age of nineteen and had been recruited by the Bureau straight out of college. His plan had been to go to Harvard Law, but after talking to the Bureau’s recruiter midway through his senior year, he caught the FBI bug.

Josh, as he was mostly called, had for the most part lived a very sheltered life. His father was the United States ambassador to Australia, and his mother was a former United States attorney, and she was also a former White House counsel. Josh grew up around privilege and power. He also grew up around money, lots of it. His maternal grandfather was a former international commodities trader who later became a United States senator, while his father’s father was the founder of a very successful Wall Street brokerage. Josh was the product of the Andover prep school and had been groomed to go to Harvard Law so he could take over the family business. He, however, craved excitement and danger.

His first years in the Bureau were spent chasing low-level counterfeiters and investigating missing children cases. Eventually, after plenty of wild and loose but lucky stunts, he worked his way up the ladder and built a reputation as a maverick who would get the job done. His reputation won him a transfer to New York to work on the high-profile organized crime leaders and the New York Mafia families. Once they had been pretty much broken up, he was transferred to Philadelphia, where he was biding his time until he made deputy special agent in charge. He wouldn’t be content until he was in charge of his own major field office. He had been told that his promotion was in the works. The actual words were more along the lines of “It’s basically being a done deal.” All he had to do was sit tight. He, on the other hand, had other plans.