then spoke again, “Do you have any information for us.”
“There’s this is one guy you can talk to,” Voshon said. “I think his name is Max Vernon or Vernon Max but he goes by the name of DJ Krash , with a K.”
“Where can we find this Mr. Krash ?” Beadsworth asked.
“He’s a DJ at the club House of Jam. He plays there on Fridays.”
I then remembered the picture Garnett had put up in the front. The three guys were standing outside a club—was it the House of Jam?
“So you think he might be involved in this?” I said.
“I didn’t say he was involved, only that he might have some information,” Voshon said.
“How do you know?” I said.
“I worked some night shifts there and I heard some stuff, you know.”
Beadsworth got up. “Thank you, Voshon . Anything you hear you let me know.”
“Sure.”
***
We walked down the stairs and were out again. Beadsworth looked up and waved. Theo waved back and disappeared from the window.
“What was he doing?” I asked.
“Watching.”
“Watching what?”
“The car.”
“Why?”
“So nobody vandalizes it.” He looked at me as if I were dumb and stupid.
I quietly got in the car.
When we were out of Regent Park I asked, “What’s the story with Voshon ?”
“A year ago we caught him stealing groceries from a variety store,” Beadsworth said.
“Groceries?”
“Yes. He said his younger brother was hungry and he didn’t have any money. Voshon’s a good kid, just in a bad environment. So we acquired him a job as a security guard.”
“A thief becomes a security guard. That’s a first,” I said.
“The security firm is owned and run by a retired police officer. Most of the people who work for him are young offenders looking for a second chance.”
“So when Voshon said he worked night shifts at the club he meant security work?”
“ Voshon’s not into drugs. The only thing he cares about is his brother.”
This Voshon guy wasn’t all that bad. Come to think of it, Beadsworth didn’t look like a bad guy, either.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I shrugged.
“Don’t mention it, officer.”
“But I do think I should be able get to know you, y’know . You already know a lot about me.”
“What would you like to know?” he asked.
“Where you from?”
“England.”
“That explains your accent. But I’ve watched a lot of British soap operas and you don’t sound anything like them.”
“I was born there. But I spent most of my adolescence in the United States.”
“So you’re married with kids?” I said.
“Yes.” Beadsworth was about to say more when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said. “Detective Phillip Beadsworth …” He listened. “Yes, dear…where is he now…is he okay…I’ll be right over.”
He hung up and continued driving. I could tell he was thinking.
“Why don’t you drop me off right here,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Headquarters is the other way. Don’t worry. Drop me off and go, do whatever you have to do.”
For the first time he looked at me as if there was more to me than met the eye.
“Are you certain?” he finally said.
“Yeah. Go. Don’t worry. I’ll call a taxi.”
“When I’m done, I’ll call you.”
***
He dropped me off and drove away. I looked around; this was unfamiliar territory. I pulled out my cell phone, ready to dial for a cab when I saw one come to a halt across the street. I squinted. It was orange and navy green. The cab plate number looked familiar and the driver did too. I rushed over.
A guy was approaching the vehicle when I intercepted.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, catching my breath. “Police business.” I waved my badge and got in.
“Police Headquarters. Fast,” I ordered the driver in a loud voice. He complied and put his foot on the pedal.
Once the guy was out of
“There’s this is one guy you can talk to,” Voshon said. “I think his name is Max Vernon or Vernon Max but he goes by the name of DJ Krash , with a K.”
“Where can we find this Mr. Krash ?” Beadsworth asked.
“He’s a DJ at the club House of Jam. He plays there on Fridays.”
I then remembered the picture Garnett had put up in the front. The three guys were standing outside a club—was it the House of Jam?
“So you think he might be involved in this?” I said.
“I didn’t say he was involved, only that he might have some information,” Voshon said.
“How do you know?” I said.
“I worked some night shifts there and I heard some stuff, you know.”
Beadsworth got up. “Thank you, Voshon . Anything you hear you let me know.”
“Sure.”
***
We walked down the stairs and were out again. Beadsworth looked up and waved. Theo waved back and disappeared from the window.
“What was he doing?” I asked.
“Watching.”
“Watching what?”
“The car.”
“Why?”
“So nobody vandalizes it.” He looked at me as if I were dumb and stupid.
I quietly got in the car.
When we were out of Regent Park I asked, “What’s the story with Voshon ?”
“A year ago we caught him stealing groceries from a variety store,” Beadsworth said.
“Groceries?”
“Yes. He said his younger brother was hungry and he didn’t have any money. Voshon’s a good kid, just in a bad environment. So we acquired him a job as a security guard.”
“A thief becomes a security guard. That’s a first,” I said.
“The security firm is owned and run by a retired police officer. Most of the people who work for him are young offenders looking for a second chance.”
“So when Voshon said he worked night shifts at the club he meant security work?”
“ Voshon’s not into drugs. The only thing he cares about is his brother.”
This Voshon guy wasn’t all that bad. Come to think of it, Beadsworth didn’t look like a bad guy, either.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I shrugged.
“Don’t mention it, officer.”
“But I do think I should be able get to know you, y’know . You already know a lot about me.”
“What would you like to know?” he asked.
“Where you from?”
“England.”
“That explains your accent. But I’ve watched a lot of British soap operas and you don’t sound anything like them.”
“I was born there. But I spent most of my adolescence in the United States.”
“So you’re married with kids?” I said.
“Yes.” Beadsworth was about to say more when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said. “Detective Phillip Beadsworth …” He listened. “Yes, dear…where is he now…is he okay…I’ll be right over.”
He hung up and continued driving. I could tell he was thinking.
“Why don’t you drop me off right here,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Headquarters is the other way. Don’t worry. Drop me off and go, do whatever you have to do.”
For the first time he looked at me as if there was more to me than met the eye.
“Are you certain?” he finally said.
“Yeah. Go. Don’t worry. I’ll call a taxi.”
“When I’m done, I’ll call you.”
***
He dropped me off and drove away. I looked around; this was unfamiliar territory. I pulled out my cell phone, ready to dial for a cab when I saw one come to a halt across the street. I squinted. It was orange and navy green. The cab plate number looked familiar and the driver did too. I rushed over.
A guy was approaching the vehicle when I intercepted.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, catching my breath. “Police business.” I waved my badge and got in.
“Police Headquarters. Fast,” I ordered the driver in a loud voice. He complied and put his foot on the pedal.
Once the guy was out of
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