The Twins

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Chapter Eight

Detectives Williams and Taylor clocked out at 5:32 pm. But before they did, Isis had Taylor check to see if Anthony Jenkins Jr. had a rap sheet, which it turned out he did. Their young victim had been arrested for sexual assault on a minor.

Isis went to visit her mother’s’ grave--like she’d done every Friday since her mother died. She pulled her Durango into the Maple Grove cemetery, in Kew Gardens, Queens, and parked next to a Honda Civic. As she approached her mother’s plot, she paused and took a look around. A family was standing in front of a grave ten yards away from where she stood. A woman was crying. A couple who were at a plot to the right of her, were kneeling in prayer.

Isis walked up to her mother’s grave, sat down on top of it, and removed her shoes. The smell of flowers filled the air. There was a large maple tree fifty feet behind her mother’s tombstone. Isis watched as two Robins built a nest. She removed the red and white roses from a small, stone flower pot that she’d brought last week and replaced them with some fresh flowers.

Then she read her mother’s headstone out loud:


Isis sat facing her mother’s headstone. “Hi, Mommy. And how are you doing today? She folded her legs in a lotus position and began playing with her toes. She stopped for a moment and rubbed the soft, green grass with her hands, then she returned to her feet. “It was another nasty day at the office, Mommy. We found the body of a young man glued to a chair in Harlem. Someone had cut off his…well, you know, and stuffed garbage in the hole.” Isis shook her head. “Oh yeah, I got a new partner today, his name’s Andrew Taylor… yeah, I know it’s a biblical name...did he quit yet? Oh, you’ve got jokes, huh, Mommy? No, he didn’t quit yet, and yes, I’m still going to my anger management classes.”

Isis was not aware of the tone of her voice. It was on the borderline of sounding childlike. Isis gripped her toes and began to rock back and forth. “I’m working really, really hard on my anger, Mommy. At that moment, her emotions erupted into a deep, gut-wrenching sob. “I’m so sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to help you. But I tried, Mommy, I really, really tried.”

Isis T. Williams was arrested on July fourth nineteen ninety-eight for the murder of her husband. Mr. Williams was found shot to death at the Williams’ Far Rockaway, Queens home. The crime scene technicians had found gunpowder residue on the hands of Mrs. Williams, and there were bloodstains on her clothing. Young Isis, who was seventeen at the time, never believed that her mother had committed the crime. As a matter of fact, this was the very incident that had prompted Isis into becoming a cop--to catch the guy who really killed her father.

Before the trial had begun, young Isis Williams had searched her neighborhood for witnesses, but unfortunately, it was the Fourth of July and everyone was at the beach, including Isis. Mrs. Williams claimed that when she heard the gunshot, she was in the living room of their home. She had testified that she and her husband had an argument and that she left him in the backyard. She also testified that she’d thought she’d seen someone running away from their home.

Mrs. Williams had told the jury that when she’d found her husband’s body, she’d picked up the gun and it had automatically gone off. The jury took twenty-five minutes to find Mrs. Williams guilty of second-degree murder. At the sentencing phase of the trial, Mrs. Williams was sentenced to twenty years to life. She had dropped dead from a massive heart attack right after the sentence was read.

Isis laid on top of her mother’s grave and sobbed off and on for over two hours. As she laid there staring at the clouds, she repeated, mentally and verbally, I’m sorry, Mommy... “I’m really, really sorry.”

Detective Taylor sat at a table outside The Red Rooster restaurant on Lenox Avenue awaiting his brothers. He gazed at his watch, then began to stare at all the pretty ladies that passed his table. Taylor lowered his head. He’d been waiting for his brothers for over an hour. Two young women passed by his table and Taylor shot them a look. Hookers, he thought. God, how Taylor loved the hookers.

Detective Taylor had what most people would call a sex addiction. For as long as he could remember, he’d had this problem. In his youth, Taylor was obsessed with masturbation, doing it as much as twenty times a day. When his older brothers had introduced him to porn, young Andrew Taylor was off to the races. Hooky parties became orgies as his hunger for sex intensified. By the time Young Andrew had entered college, he was having sex six, seven, eight times a day with different coeds. Then he’d met the love of his life, his ex-wife, Donna, and for the first time, young Andrew Taylor was in love. The couple married while they were in their senior year. Three years, seven months, fifteen days, and six hours later, they were divorced.

“Hey, Andy-boy.” A voice from behind him had brought him back to the here and now. Taylor stood and hugged his brothers.

David was the eldest. Elijah was the one who’d given Taylor the nickname Andy-boy.

“What’s going on, guys?”

“Why are you sitting out here? C’mon, let’s go inside,” David suggested. The men walked inside The Red Rooter and sat at the bar. An R&B artist was singing Smokey Robinson’s song Cruisin’.

“Were you waiting long, bro?” David asked.

“No, I just got here,” Taylor lied.

“Good. What are you drinking, Andy-boy?”

Taylor ordered a scotch and soda. As the men sat and talked about current events, two beautiful women walked into The Red Rooster. One of the women winked at Taylor as she walked by.

“You saw that, Dave, that girl winked at Andy-boy. You old son of a bitch.” Taylor smiled.

Elijah rubbed his hands together and said, “What do think, Andy-boy, you want some of that?”

David waved to the bartender and ordered another drink. “Leave him alone, Elijah…”

“I’m just saying, Andy-boy here looks like he could use some. When was the last time you had any, Andy-boy?” Elijah grabbed his little brother by the back of the neck and stared at him. “Well, I’m waiting.”

“I’m trying to get back with”

“Just what I thought…”

“Leave the man alone. He wants to get back with his wife.”

“Forget her,” Elijah said, cutting his brother off. “What Andy-boy needs is some fresh pussy. Don’t cha little brother?”

Taylor stared at is glass. He always felt small and inadequate when he was around his brothers. He would give his right arm just to leave.

After an hour and a half, David and Elijah said their goodbyes and left The Red Rooster. Taylor stayed behind to have another drink--that’s what he told his brothers. The real reason why Taylor stayed behind was to pick up the two girls that walked in earlier.

Isis was emotionally drained when she entered the office of Dr. Sandy Wilcox, her psychiatrist, fifteen minutes late. “My bad, doc. Things were kind of hectic at the job.” This too was another one of Isis’s rituals. Every Friday, like clockwork, Isis would enter Dr. Wilcox’s office, walk over towards the couch that Dr. Wilcox had positioned at the far corner of her office, and lay down.

“How was your day?” The doctor asked. She was also the psychiatrist at the Double 0. “I heard about the little incident at the precinct. Are you O.K.? Do you want to talk about it?”

“The prick got what he deserved. Case closed,” Isis stated.

“So, you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No.” Isis laid down on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest. She’d been a patient of Dr. Wilcox ever since her mother’s conviction fourteen years ago.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

Isis stared at the ceiling. Then she lifted her head and looked at Dr. Wilcox. “I just want to lay here if that’s all right with you, Doc,” she said as she dropped her head back onto the couch.

“Oh, and I’ve been wanting to tell you about your sleeping during our sessions--”

Isis was already snoring.

After the session, Isis parked her Durango on the other side of the street from her sister’s apartment building. Isis and her eldest sister hadn’t spoken to one another in fourteen years, ever since their mother was charged with the death of their father. When the girls were younger, they had made a promise to one another that whenever their parents would start to argue, they would step in and defuse the situation. Mr. Williams had a bad temper, and when he was drunk, he became very abusive.

She really wanted to make up with her sister Deloris. Fourteen years is too damn long, she thought. Isis’ sister blames her for the death of their mother and with the destruction of their family.

While Isis was parked on her sister’s block, she had spotted Deloris coming down the street. Isis jumped out of her Durango and did a slow run in her sister’s direction. She called out to her sister but Deloris did not answer. Before Isis could reach her sister’s apartment, Deloris slammed and locked the door. Isis stood in front of her sister’s apartment for twenty-five minutes. She left tear stains on her sister’s door when she walked away.

Isis stepped out of her shower. Water dripped from her body as she made her way toward her bedroom. She laid there staring at the ceiling: my life is fucked up. Emotions were building inside of her again. She thought about the day her father was killed. She remembered her father arguing with her mother, but it was the Fourth of July and everyone was going to the beach. I should’ve stayed. A tear slid down Isis’ right cheek. Isis’ reason for her not staying was a boy--the neighborhood drug dealer, Sammy “The Face” Russo. Isis had bought a new bathing suit earlier that day, and she wanted Sammy “The Face” to see her in it. Isis had a serious crush on the handsome drug dealer.

She raised her nude body to her elbows and stared at the forty-five inch flat screen T.V. that hung opposite her queen sized bed. She picked up the remote, looked at it, then she placed it back on the bed. After she put on her robe, she sat at the kitchen table, musing about her job, which she loved. But the damn system is fucked up. Too many flaws. Too many loopholes, she thought to herself. Isis felt herself getting angry. She often got angry when she thought about the criminal justice system. She jumped out of her seat and began swinging angry left and right hooks at the air, an anger management technique that she learned at one of her sessions.

The ringing of her cell phone ended the round. Her niece, her sister Deloris’ only child, was trying to contact her. Isis had only two relatives left alive--that she knew of--her sister and her niece, Pamerla. “Hi, Pam. Is everything okay?”

“Hi Auntie, yeah, everything’s o.k., I saw you when you ran into our building but…I don’t understand why you and Mommy don’t like each other. It doesn’t make any sense to me. We’re supposed to be family. I just don’t understand…”

“Pam, I explained it to you, I want to make up with your mother, but she doesn’t…” Isis voice cracked.

“Are you okay, Auntie?”

“I’m fine, niecey. Listen, are we still on for next week?”

“Sure, Auntie. And I have a hot, new outfit that I’m dying to wear.”

“Okay...listen, tell your mother I said hi and that…well, just tell her that for me, all right?”

“Don’t I always, Auntie?”

After Isis had hung up the phone, she looked up and said to her mother, “I’ll take care of them, Mommy. I’ll make sure nothing happens to them…”

The realtor had shown the twins three co-op apartments within the last two hours. When Stacey and Jannifer McHill, whose last name was now “Hill”, stepped into an apartment on Sullivan Street--in the village--they were sold. The twins also purchased an apartment in Harlem.

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