Last Stop



  Last Stop

  Marvlous Harrison

  Copyright 2013 by Marvlous Harrison

  Chapter

  1

  “Last stop on this North Bound, Number 6 Train will be Pelham Bay Station! All passengers off! This train will be returning to the yard! I repeat, all passengers off!” the conductor announced in a booming voice over the subway’s p.a. system.

  The few passengers who remained on the subway systematically filed off. All except for one rider. A young man in his mid twenties remained hunched over sleeping with his Navy blue, Yankee baseball cap slumped halfway over his face.

  The conductor walked briskly through the subway cars making sure no one remained and those who did, usually the homeless or the overly inebriated, was awaken and informed they must exit the train.

  “Hey, buddy, last stop. Everybody off,” the conductor said banging his set of subway keys on the seat to wake the rider up. “Hey, did you hear what I said? Everybody off!” the conductor repeated this time with authority in his voice.

  When the rider didn’t move the conductor tapped his arm trying to nudge him awake. But the man didn’t wake up.

  “Hey, you okay, pal?” the conductor asked slightly hesitant as he shook the rider again.

  The rider’s body slid slightly to the side, resting on the pole from the jostling, revealing a whole in the glass behind him. Then the conductor saw it. Blood on the back of the light grey subway seat.

  “Oh, my god!” the conductor said shocked as he took a step back. After a second to calm his nerves the conductor leaned in for a closer look. He made the sign of the cross while mumbling a short prayer. There was no doubt the rider was dead.

  The conductor pulled out his two way radio. “Dispatch, this is Conductor Johnson. Train number 2175. I need an officer and EMS at the Pelham Bay station. There’s been an accident,” the conductor told his dispatcher.

  “What kind of accident, Johnson?” the dispatcher asked over the scratchy airwaves.

  “I think it was a shooting,” Johnson replied as he leaned in close again for a second look.

  “Copy that. EMS and the police are on their way. Remain on scene until they arrive,” the dispatcher instructed him.

  “Copy that.” Johnson peered closely at the deceased young man again. “I guess it really was the last stop for you. Rest In Peace, brother.”

  It took EMS and the police less than five minutes to respond and arrive at the scene. The EMS workers took one look at the young man and knew they weren’t needed. It was too late for any help.

  The police arrived on the scene in swarms. Officers in tactical gear, patrol officers, and detectives arrived to get to the bottom of the shooting.

  The two detectives in charge of the case were Detectives Pettiway and Parish. Pettiway, a seasoned Homicide detective. And Parish a fresh transfer from the Gang Unit.

  Pettiway began going over the crime scene. He searched the body for wounds, documenting everything as he went.

  “What do you think happened here?” Parish asked Pettiway as he looked over his shoulder.

  “Not really sure. But I can tell you one thing. Robbery wasn’t the motive. The vic has a little over a hundred dollars in his pocket. Still got his IPhone,” Detective Pettiway told him as he gave the victim’s tattoos a closer look. “Definitely gang affiliated. According to his ink he’s a member of the Hell Bound Crips. By the looks of it, a high ranking member.”

  Parish peered closer to the tattoos on the victim’s forearms. “Yeah. He’s a high ranking member alright. An O.G.,” Parish said for confirmation. He had spent five years in the Gang Unit before moving to Homicide so he’d seen his share of gang tattoos. “You got an I.D. yet? I can run him through the gang book for confirmation. But I know gang ink when I see it. And our vic is loaded with it. See the tear drop tats around the left eye? That means he’s killed before. A tear drop for each victim,” he explained to his partner as he pointed out the tattoos under the corner of the victim’s left eye with an ink pen. “And according to this, he has at least three homicides under his belt. Definitely gang related.”

  Detective Pettiway didn’t say anything. He despised jumping to conclusions when it came to murder investigations. His belief was if you get locked in on one scenario you try to make it work even if didn’t. And that could cause a detective to miss valuable clues.

  “Help me roll him over so I can check his back pocket for a wallet or something with some kind of identification,” Detective Pettiway said. With their hands covered in latex gloves, the two detectives heaved the victim’s nearly two hundred pounds over on his left side.

  Detective Pettiway searched the victim’s back pockets and found a tattered Gucci wallet. He removed a New York State Driver’s license and read the name. “We have here, one…Ali Ricardo. 207 Alexander Avenue. Apartment 12-E,” Detective Pettiway read off. He looked at the picture on the identification, then looked at the victim’s face closely, holding the driver’s license inches away from the victim’s face.

  “Definitely our victim,” Pettiway said.

  “Alexander Avenue. That’s South Bronx. Definitely Hell Bound’s territory,” Detective Parish added.

  Detective Pettiway rolled the victim over on his side a little more see if he could get a better look at the back of his head. “Entry wound to the back of the head. Consistent with the hole in the window.”

  “The Perp could have fired off a round or two after recognizing the vic as a rival gang member. Maybe had a few choice words for each other. Or the always infamous stare down,” Detective Parish speculated. “Our Perp steps off the train after said confrontation and fired off a few rounds striking the vic in the back of the head. Makes sense.”

  Detective Pettiway glanced around the immediate area of the subway car looking for other bullet holes. “I think it was only one round. And I don’t think our vic knew it was coming. He looks too relax.”

  “Maybe he assumed the confrontation wasn’t that serious. It’s obvious our Perp did.”

  “Has anyone spoken to the motorman yet? Get his statement to see if he saw anything?” Detective Pettiway asked as he began removing the victim’s person items from his pockets to be placed in an evidence bag.

  “A uniform did. You want me to follow up?”

  “Yeah, before he get’s antsy and disappear. No telling what his story might be later,” Detective Pettiway said as he removed a subway Metro card from the victim’s pocket. He turned it over, scrutinizing it closely. “And have a MTA supervisor come down. I need someone to run the vic’s Metro Card through the system. I want to know when and where it was used the last time. It’ll give us a time frame to work with,” he instructed Parish as he placed the Metro Card in an evidence bag.

  “Gotcha, boss,” Parish replied before heading off to find the motorman and a supervisor.

  “Who did you piss off, my friend?” Pettiway asked the victim, as if he could answer him, as he checked out the victim’s IPhone. He found it locked and made a mental note to have one of the Tech guys get inside it. Maybe the perpetrator was stupid enough to either leave a threatening text message or called right before the murder was committed.