Tough Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

is sky-high. There’'s a turf war on. People should be staying off the streets after dark and locking their doors.”" Grace frowned at Ham, who was obviously drawing a blank. “"There was this puff piece Kendra did, about how violent crimes are down in Oklahoma City.”"
    “"Say what?”" Ham looked from Grace to Captain Perry and back again. “"Why’'d she do that?”"
    “"Guess someone’'s planning their reelection campaign,”" Captain Perry bit off. “"Used her as their mouthpiece. Only you did not hear me say that.”"
    “"Shit,”" Ham said, scowling. “"What’'s Butch got to say about that?”"
    Grace realized the question was largely rhetorical—--what Ham was really saying was that Butch’'s choice in fiancéees was questionable at best. Grace liked Kendra but she had to agree; nevertheless, she moved back to more important matters.
    “"We should go find Jamal before he does something that he can’'t fix,”" Grace said to Ham.
    “"His grandfather has no idea where he is.”" The captain spread her hands over the case folder.
    Ham grunted sympathetically. “"Poor old man. One grandson dies, the other hits the streets.”"
    “"He did everything he could for those two boys,”" Captain Perry reminded him. “"At some point they made a choice.”"
    “"Yeah, join my gang or get your head stuffed up your ass,”" Ham muttered. He exhaled slowly. “"We had him out, man.”"
    “"Maybe we weren’'t enough,”" Grace said. Her thoughts flew, as they often did, to Clay. Doubtless rocket club had been canceled. He’'d be eager for the overnight, but maybe she should bail, stay on the job—--
    No way. As sorry as she was about Malcolm, Clay came first. Then Malcolm, then Haleem. Last night, she’'d promised Haleem she’'d catch his killer. Last night, he was number one on her list. Or was that just something she’'d said to hear herself talk?
    CHAPTER          FOUR
    Grace wanted to go directly to the crime scene, to see where Malcolm had died, but it was more important to locate Jamal. The lowering Oklahoma sky pushed against Grace’'s back while she and Ham worked the mean streets, two white faces in a blasted-out black-and-brown neighborhood with a prison-style perimeter of hurricane fences plastered with posters for cheap car repairs, bail bonds, hip-hop concerts, and Mexican cheese. Styrofoam fast-food containers and paper plates twirled and spun in the damn wind that would not let up; they had to yell at people to be heard, and everyone pretended to be deaf anyway. When you were poor and hopeless, you admired power. The cops didn’'t have power here. The gangs did.
    The scenic stretch of dollar stores, thrift shops, liquor stores, a closed bank, and a grocery store with a broken window belonged to the 13X Boyz. When Jamal had left the Sixty-Sixes, he had moved his grandfather and little brother out of Sixty-Six territory, but he couldn’'t manage to leave gangland behind. He didn’'t have the cash. Yet. Jamal had been working on his dream—--a little house farther away from all the bad guys, like in Norman. Saving all his paychecks.
    Or so he told her. Maybe he’'d been lying to her to make her feel better. Maybe he’'d known that Norman was a lot farther away than the road atlas indicated.
    “"How long has he been gone?”" Grace asked Jamal’'s grandfather when she and Ham arrived at the Briscombes’' run-down apartment, located over a garage that had, in the past, served as a meth lab. Casa Briscombe was the home of someone who had diligently followed the rules and gotten smacked around because of it. Threadbare carpet, church-donated refrigerator, two-ring cook stove. It smelled like oil changes and alley garbage.
    “"He took off soon as we got the call. I had to go down to the morgue by myself, make what you call a positive identi …...”" He trailed off, staring at his hands as if he had never seen them before. “"Make sure it was my boy.”" Tears slid down his