Max Pemberton - Police Detective

The Red Lipstick War

soppingwetpanties

This story is entered into the "Crime and Punishment" author's challenge for 2025.

Many thanks to migbird for his contributions to this story.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

* * *

The night Dee Dee Johnson died the clouds above Cincinnati wept tears to mark her passing.

* * *

It was a long cold soaking rain that fell the night Deidra "Dee Dee" Johnson passed on. Dee Dee was the Queen of the West End. Her reign was short, scarcely a year, but her mark on me was indelible. She was anointed Queen by the undisputed kingpin of the West End, Jumbo Williams, after she gunned down Jumbo's assassin in front of Spin City Suds, an all-night laundromat. Ironically, she also met her demise in that very location, the victim of an execution style murder by a Haitian gang.

Dee Dee was a big woman - - a vivacious woman with a big heart and a bigger gun. She could fight and fuck with the best of them, and somehow her sights were set on me as her next girlfriend. We never consummated that relationship and I always wondered if she'd lived if we would have.

My lover, Elaine Fujimoto, the Medical Examiner for Hamilton County, had summoned me to her place of work a few hours after I made the request to see Dee Dee's body. There was an eddy of emotions swirling in my head. We'd just closed a case involving the murder of Moira Kinnison, arresting her stepfather Ray Kinnison for that unspeakable crime, then to find out my sometime informant and unlikely soulmate Dee Dee was the victim of a revenge killing. My blood was boiling as I pulled up to the county morgue.

The morgue was situated in the basement of an Art Deco style building on the backside of the County Courthouse - - easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, which most people weren't. The exterior was a pale limestone rising five stories high, built in 1934, back when death was still handled with ceremony -- fluted pilasters framing tall and narrow windows like frozen waterfalls. A brass cornice ran the length of the roofline, tarnished a streaky green-blue.

Walking into the lobby felt like entering a time capsule from the Roosevelt administration - black and white marble flooring in a geometric chevron pattern, dulled by decades of foot traffic and detergent. The walls were veined green stones with sconces set far enough apart to cast shadows in the corners. The elevators worked sporadically and rattled slowly between floors. No one took the elevator down to the morgue. It was quicker and more direct to take the stairs, guarded by a door with a faded sticker:

Restricted Access - Staff Only

It was a sticker everyone ignored.

The stairs were poured concrete with non-slip metal nosing bolted to the steps, the metal worn smooth, with a single sputtering fluorescent light to guide the way.

The hallway outside the autopsy suite smelled like bleach, cold steel and the bottom of a deep well. A place where time didn't move the same. I'd walked that linoleum tiled floor a hundred times - to see overdosed teenagers, battered wives and gangbangers - but I never had this weight in my gut - a weight I'd carry to my dying day.

Elaine met me in the hallway outside the double doors. She was in navy scrubs covered by a white lab coat. There was a hint of dried coffee on her sleeve. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She wore no make-up and there was no small talk.

"Are you sure you want to see her like this?" she asked me.

"I don't want to, but I need to," I answered.

"Suit yourself," she said, putting her shoulder into the swinging door. I followed her in.

I zipped up my jacket as I entered the refrigerated room. The far wall was lined with gurneys with bodies covered under plastic sheets. Elaine stood in front of one of the examination tables. She peeled back the sheet.

There she was. The Queen. Lying in state.

Her face was badly deformed, the two exit wounds large and irregular in shape, with parts of her skull missing. But there was no missing the message on her forehead scrawled with her trademark lipstick like sick warpaint:

JD FS The Queen

A rival Haitian gang had tried to take Dee Dee out at Spin City Suds over a year ago, but I happened to be there at the right time to flatten her before the shooters sprayed the laundromat. Two of the shooters, Jean-Danile Dorce, and Fabienne Sorel, were caught by Dee Dee in an abandoned meat packing warehouse. Dee Dee put the shooters on meat hooks and then ignited a propane tank underneath them as a message to those who wanted to take her out. The gang didn't appreciate their gruesome manner of death and took their revenge with Dee Dee's very public gangland style execution.

Elaine got my attention and lifted up Dee Dee's right wrist.

"See the bruising? Both wrists. Deep tissue. There was a struggle."

"So she knew, at least for a second."

"She didn't go quietly."

"And note the abrasions on the knees," Elaine said.

"They made her kneel before they killed her," I said.

"Precisely."

"Help me turn her over," I said.

With four hands we turned her over. Two entry wounds in the back of her head, neat and circular with powder burns. It was a close range execution.

"Every time I get close to someone," I lamented, "they end up on a goddamn slab."

"Present company excepted I hope," Elaine retorted quickly.

Elaine and I had been together for a month.

"It's not too late to break up," I said.

Elaine grasped my hand with her gloved hand.

"I'll take my chances."

"I'm going to find out who did this," I vowed.

"I figured."

"And I'm not bringing them in. I'm burning them down."

Elaine didn't flinch. "Then I guess I'll be seeing you here before long as a customer."

* * *

I drove back to the station in a melancholy mood. Ordinarily I'd be happy to hang out with my partner Lanny Woodford, and our sidekick Ginny Hamilton, but today was different. I was on a mission. A mission to fuck over one or more Haitian gang members who double tapped Dee Dee. I needed Lanny and Ginny to get done what had to be done. They were going to be all in with me or on the outside looking in. There was no middle ground.

I felt bad putting this weight on these young pups. They were barely off probation. I didn't enjoy the best reputation in the department and what I was going to ask them to do would put their careers at risk. But that was the dilemma of a police officer. Backing your partner at all costs. You needed that level of commitment. On the street, that mutual trust was paramount if you wanted to live in the West End. Lesley was my partner and she would have, and probably did, follow me to Hell. I would die for Lanny and Ginny. Would they do the same for me?

The bullpen was half-empty when I got back. The pups had interior carrels as their "offices." As a Sergeant, I was assigned an outside office, directly across from the bullpen. Lanny was with Ginny, hunched over her computer, laughing. It was a video of a raccoon stealing a box of donuts from under the nose of a policeman.

" . . . so that guy's going to get a lifetime of shit from his mates," Lanny chortled while they were both laughing.

Lanny noticed me first, standing behind them. Ginny saw Lanny's head move and then saw me.

"Is this what you idiots do on company time with company resources?" I asked them in a scolding tone.

"Uh huh," Lanny said. "Do you want to watch it from the beginning?"

I took a deep sigh like a disappointed parent. They were pups after all.

"No, I don't," I said. "I actually have something serious to talk to you two about. We can't do it here. Let's go to Bea's."

"I'm always up for a donut," Lanny said.

"And I've never met Bea," Ginny noted. That gave me pause. Every time I brought in a woman Bea thought she was my girlfriend.

* * *

Happy Donut was only a five minute drive from the station. The best donuts in the West End. I was pleased to perpetuate the cop stereotype because I loved her chocolate old fashioneds. Best I've ever had and combined with a good cup of coffee you have a small slice of heaven. The shop was owned and operated by Binh "Bea" Nguyen, a Vietnamese immigrant, who along with her husband ran it for the last twenty years. She had a keen mind and a sharp tongue.

I wanted to go there because no one from the station would be there at that time of day.

It was late morning so the usual early morning line was gone. So was Bea. No pink visor. No flour-dusted apron. No judgmental glance. I figured Bea was in the back room because her husband Minh was manning the counter. He usually sat at the table closest to the counter reading a Vietnamese newspaper.

He looked up when the door chimed.

"Hello Maxine," he said, tight and formal.

"Where's Bea?"

"In back. Trouble, I think . . ."

I could hear commotion in the back room.

"You go away!" Bea shouted at the top of her lungs.

Lanny was a big boy and was able to vault over the glass counter while Minh watched him, mouth agape.

I went around to follow, but by the time I got there Lanny had a teenage boy pinned to the floor. He was empty handed.

"No hit him," the diminutive Bea cried out quickly. "He only grab box - - just old donut!"

Ginny was behind us now, watching the scene with her arms crossed.

I crouched next to the kid.

"What's your name?"

"Ernest . . . Ernest Michel. Honest, I didn't take no money. Just food. My little brother - - he ain't eat since yesterday."

I looked at the day-old box sitting on the floor. She usually distributed them later in the day in the parking lot. I showed it to Bea.

"Let him up," I said to Lanny.

He looked up at me, puzzled. "Are you sure?"

"He's not a Haitian King," I said, the name of the local Haitian gang. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. "No colors, no ink, no crew cut. Just a kid with a starving little brother."

He was lucky he wasn't affiliated with that gang. Someone with that gang commissioned the hit on Dee Dee and I had no doubt the head of the snake was responsible. It was my job to cut off the head.

Lanny let go of the kid and Bea grabbed his arm and helped him up. He dusted off his clothes.

"I didn't mean nothin' by it," he said, his head down.

Bea found a brown paper supermarket shopping bag and put four boxes of donuts in it. She thrust the bag into the young boy's hands.

"You take to your brother," she said, trying not to be teary eyed.

I opened the back door to let him out.

"Be good Ernest," I said to him.

Bea followed us out from the kitchen to behind the front counter. We circled around and she dispatched her husband back to his newspaper.

"Emergency over," she said. "Protect and Serve, right Max?"

"That's right Bea," I answered.

"You protect. I serve. I give you donuts on the house."

Then she eyeballed Ginny, who'd just finished talking to Ernest before he left.

"Are you Max's new girlfriend?" Bea asked her.

"No, I'm not," Ginny said.

Bea smiled. "She tell all her girlfriends to say that. Bea knows."

"Yes ma'am," Ginny replied. She already figured out it was fruitless to argue with her.

* * *

With the commotion settled, Ginny, Lanny and I snagged an empty table to enjoy our piping hot coffee and donuts.

"I guess you're wondering why I brought you here," I said.

"It wasn't just for the donuts?" Lanny asked.

"And not to meet Bea?" Ginny chimed in.

"No," I said. "This is serious. You know that Dee Dee wasn't just killed, she was executed."

"Sure Max," Lanny said.

"The case got assigned to Wagner. Homicide logged it like they're supposed to. But you know him - - he's probably going to slow roll it. That case probably won't see daylight until Christmas, and even then it'll get pushed to some rookie to watch grainy surveillance footage and read interviews of junkies who can't remember what day it is."

"So you think they're shelving it?" Lanny asked.

"I'm afraid it will be," I said. "It's gang on gang violence, hardly the kind of murder that gets Homicide's attention. They want cases they can clear. This one won't get cleared through a conventional investigation and they know it. I can guarantee you that no one in the West End saw or heard anything. No one wants to risk vengeance from the Haitians. Everyone saw what they did to Dee Dee. If they can kill the Queen they can kill anyone."

Ginny leaned in closer, almost whispering. "So what do you want us to do about it?"

"The West End was her turf and it's ours as well. First a reckless drive-by at Spin City and then this, for crying out in public in broad daylight."

I could see the wheels turning in Lanny's head. "Won't Jumbo be working on it? It's his gal after all."

"You're right. He will be. But he doesn't have the resources we do. Or a badge. We can get into places he can't."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Are we going to be working with him?"

"Maybe. We'll see. All I know is that we need to do something, and I need you two to help."

Ginny folded her arms. "What about Campos? What if she gets wind of our involvement?"

Irene Campos was the no nonsense head of Homicide who bore a big-time grudge against me. Ginny was right. We needed to be careful.

"We better make sure she doesn't."

"She'll go right to Muenster," Lanny said, invoking the name of our boss. "And Paul will skin us alive."

"If he's generous," Ginny said. "Don't forget he headed up IA in Canton before he came here to run Vice. He knows how to smoke a fellow officer, and we'd have it coming."

"That's why I'm talking to you here. No one else can know. Personal laptops. Burner phones. Off the books. You guys in?"

"One question," Lanny said.

"What is it?"

"Will Bea give me another donut or will I have to pay for it?"

"Did I tell you that you're a wingnut?" I asked Lanny.

"Has anyone told you that you're crazy . . . crazy to take on the Haitians, the guys that just killed the Queen?"

"I am crazy Lanny. Any more questions?"

"Nope. I'm in," Ginny confirmed, slapping the table.

"Me too," Lanny added. He got up to get another donut.

"That man has his priorities," I said to Ginny. "They're just not the right ones."

"That's why he has you," she answered.

* * *

The Landing Point was a dive bar down by the Ohio River. Its claim to fame was its annual smelt eating contest but I liked it because it was close to the station and had Kris Holleran as a waitress. Kris made her business to know the goings on at the station and often knew things before I did. She was big hearted and always had a sympathetic ear. It didn't hurt that she was Irish-American.

I needed a friend. Elaine had just called me and we had the most stilted conversation. She told me that she had something important to share and had to do it in person. I knew it wasn't going to be good, otherwise she would have just come out with it. I started to wonder if this was the beginning of the end. We both had difficulty conveying our feelings and our relationship, running white hot and a month old, was at a crossroads. The tone of Elaine's voice did nothing to comfort me. I suggested the Landing Point as the place to meet.

It was early for me to be there, just after 3 p.m., and the place was near empty. There were just a couple regulars leaning on the bar and nursing their beers. It wouldn't start getting busy for a couple more hours. I was still in uniform. My shift wasn't over and I was taking a break. I sent Lanny to the electronics store to buy a half dozen burner phones.

I told Elaine to be there at 3:30, which gave me a half hour to hash things out with Kris before I saw Elaine. I told myself I wanted to have a drink or two before she arrived but in truth I knew Kris had seen a thousand break-ups happen under the bar's neon Budweiser sign and I wanted to get her advice. I'd never had a relationship with someone like Elaine. She was whip smart, sexy, attractive and the best fuck I'd ever had in my life. She attributed it to her intimate knowledge of the human body but there was more to it than that. It's as if she could feel what I felt.

Kris spotted me the second I walked in. She always did. You could walk in with blood spattered on your work clothes or in a tuxedo, she'd know what kind of drink you wanted. She was a big woman in every sense of the word - broad in the shoulders, large breasts and generously sized hips with thick arms from decades of hauling trays filled with beer mugs and breaking up drunken shoving matches. That night she was wearing a tight fitting black V-neck tee that stretched across her chest that said "Landing Point - Est. 1978" in faded white letters and snug jeans that held in an ample booty.

"Booth's open," she said to me, pointing to the booth in the back of the bar. I was never at the Landing Point at that hour so Kris figured out I needed privacy.

I slid on the leather bench, avoiding a cut repaired with duct tape, and watched as she put a shot of bourbon and a Hudephol draft in front of me, exactly what I would have ordered if she bothered to ask me.

"She's breaking up with you, isn't she?" Kris asked me, not mincing any words.

"Yeah," I said. "Probably."

"This is the place to do it."

"I figured."

"She's too good for you."

"I know."

"Maybe she found somebody better."

"I doubt that. The sex is too good."

Her eyes gleamed. She'd heard all the scuttlebutt about my sex life. Most of it was true.

"Then she found a better job."

"That makes more sense."

"And she doesn't feel tied enough to you to turn it down."

"You seem to have this figured out."

"Honey, I've seen this movie a hundred times already. You have to have thick armor to deal with life in the West End. Maybe she just got impatient waiting for you to take it off."

I nodded in agreement. "You think I should let her go?"

"I don't think you have control over that. You can just put down your marker and see what happens. Are you in love with her?"

I hesitated. "I think so."

Kris seized on my indecisiveness. "That's the problem right there. If you truly loved her you'd have said yes right away. She can pick up on that. She's a smart cookie."

Kris picked up my empty beer mug and shot glass.

"Back at you in a couple minutes. In the meantime figure out what you want Max."

* * *

I had a fresh bourbon and beer in front of me when Elaine arrived. I'd already decided to take the rest of the day off. I wouldn't be able to work after what I was about to hear and the alcohol I'd swilled. She was in a blazer and jeans, hair pulled back neatly. It was business like and definitely not sexy. The expression on her face told me it wasn't going to be a social visit.

"Hey Max," she said, though there was no life in the greeting.

"Hey yourself," I said, forcing myself to smile.

Kris was Johnny on the spot to take Elaine's drink order.

"Do you want . . ." I started to ask.

Elaine raised her hand as she sat down opposite me instead of next to me. "Just water . . . I can't stay long."

Kris nodded and then turned to leave. I caught her raised eyebrow when Elaine delivered her line.

"I took a job . . ."

The bourbon hit the back of my throat like sandpaper. I wanted to choke.

" . . . in Atlanta. Medical Examiner for Fulton County."

"I thought you told me you didn't get it."

"I didn't. It was six months ago. But they called me this morning and asked me if I could start in two weeks."