The Evil That Men Do Read Online Free PDF Page A

his hands. They were cuffed behind him.
    Iapicca nodded. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
    Donne told him the entire story. Did not leave a detail out. He had learned the hard way that lying will only get you in more trouble.
    When Donne finished, Iapicca said, “You expect me to believe that?” “Well,” Donne said, choosing his words carefully, “it is what happened. And you told me to tell you ‘what happened.’”
    “Let me ask you something. You know how many times I’ve interviewed witnesses?”
    “No. I’ve never met you before.”
    “Lots of times.”
    “I see.”
    “And, do you know how many times they’ve told me a ‘black guy’ did it?”
    “No idea.”
    “I don’t have the exact specifics, but I’d go with ninety percent.”
    “You don’t keep stats?”
    “Listen, all I’m saying is your story sounds a bit sketchy. Most of the time someone tells me it’s the black guy in gang colors, it turns out they’re lying. Gangs are not a problem in Rutherford, New Jersey.”
    Donne took a deep breath. “This town is right in between Passaic, Paterson, and Newark. Three cities where gangs are extremely prevalent. And you’re telling me it’s impossible to have a gang member come in and shoot my aunt and uncle.”
    “I’m saying it’s unlikely.”
    The charcoal-suited cop came out of the front door. He was on a cell phone.
    “Then what is likely?” Donne asked.
    “You did it.”
    Donne nodded. Time to shut up.
    “But,” he continued, “the time for that accusation will come later. Right now there’s really no evidence.” He flipped a business card on Donne’s lap. “The rookie over there is going to uncuff you and you’ll be free to go. Call me if you think of anything else.”
    He winked at Donne.
    “Or,” Iapicca said, “if you just want to turn yourself in.”
     
     
    That was the fucking shit,
Carlos thought, walking down the street. Cesar and James were ahead of him, laughing. Cut school and just steal shit. Best day ever. Just fucking around, havin’ fun.
    “Yo, nigga,” James said, “you shoulda D-blocked that sign.”
    Carlos thought about the neon Budweiser sign. That would look tight in his room, next to the Ludacris poster, but nah, he couldn’t carry it. And the police always drove by the bar. Throwing the rocks to break the window was bad enough.
    “If five-oh shows up,” Cesar said, “just run. We get the hell out. They ain’t gonna catch us.”
    “Nah, yo,” Carlos said, looking over his shoulder. “Five-oh come by, walk. They ain’t gonna arrest anyone who walkin’. We ain’t do nothing wrong then.”
    Cesar started to laugh, but sure enough, they heard the sirens of a cop car. Carlos didn’t even flinch, just kept on walking. Cesar and James, though, they didn’t listen.
    James took off first, looking like he did when he ran track at school, arms tight to the body, knees up high. Cesar flailed, arms all over the place. You could tell the panic just by the way he ran.
    Carlos, though, did not hurry. Nothing bothered him. Especially not the cops.
    Cesar and James were a good block and a half ahead when the car blew by Carlos. It screeched to a halt in front of his two friends. Carlos laughed and turned the corner. Walked down the street toward the river. Passaic River smelled like shit, but it was better than walking toward a cop car.
    As he reached the bank of the river, he saw a big black Escalade pull off the curb back toward Route 3. Looked just like one of those cars on BET in the videos. He walked toward it, wondering if whoever was inside was somebody famous.
    The Escalade was long gone by the time Carlos reached the spot where it had been parked. He looked down at the tracks in the street, like he’d spun the wheels out. He wanted to walk down closer, but man, he just got these Air Forces and he didn’t want them to get all muddy.
    But something caught his eye reflecting in the light, down by the river. It was sticking out of