It’s Personal: Crime ~ Love ~Revenge

By Cynthia R. Hobson

IT’S PERSONAL is the sequel to A Place in Time. Chicago Police Detective Matthew Samuels decides to reopen the unsolved murder case of Narcotics Office Jacob Johnson. He hopes to bring closure to his love interest, Gloria Johnson, on the murder of her father, and bring some big-time gangsters to justice. It’s 1965 on the South Side of Chicago, and things are about to get interesting. Secrets are brought to light, romance is in the air, danger lurks in unsuspected places, and things become deadly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984581204

Cynthia R. Hobson

Cynthia R. Hobson is a writer and artist born and raised on the South Side of Chicago. She now resides in Elk Grove, California. In addition to A Place in Time, Cynthia’s other published works include a children’s novel, Little Gray Hoodie Coat, and short stories, “The White Dress,” “Love Is Kin to Sadness,” and “50 Years Is Not Enough.” She is a member of the Elk Grove Seniors’ Writing Group and Black Women Tell Tales. Cynthia has displayed her art at the Sacramento Fine Arts Center, Elk Grove Fine Arts Center, SMUD Art Gallery, and other venues and events.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by Cynthia R. Hobson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise noted in the Endnotes and

Comments section, names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to persons, living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and

such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 06/12/2020

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

812700

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mother, Lillian Cecelia Cole, whose love and guidance have sustained me throughout my entire life. It continuously amazes me how wise she was. I also dedicate this book to my grandson, Justin Lawrence Hobson, a.k.a. Main Man, because I am so proud of him.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to my Elk Grove Senior Writers’ Group. Your positive support, critiques, and feedback on my writing have been immensely valuable. You are the best! Thank you Pat Canterbury for your friendship and encouragement on my road to becoming a writer.

Contents

1     Detective Matthew Samuels

2     Bobby Mo Daniels

3     The Detective Unit

4     The Cold Case Investigation

5     Pete the Hammer Brown

6     County Prison

7     Time to Reflect

8     Bobby Mo’s New Day?

9     Change in Plans

10   Rebecca Clark

11   Bobby Mo Gets Real

12   Gloria René Johnson

13   Time to Come Clean

14   The Plot Thickens

15   Luis’s Tailor and Cleaners Shop

16   It’s On!

17   It’s All Good

18   Girlfriends

19   Secrets

20   Gustavo (Gus) Rivera

21   The Truth Can Be Hard to Swallow

22   Lester and Pete

23   Gloria Visits Matthew’s Sanctuary

24   Mabel and Bobby Mo

25   Murphy’s Law²⁰

26   Gus Rivera

27   Mabel

28   Agent Pat Lagarde

29   Showtime

30   Gloria and Dorothy

31   Sunday Church Service

32   The M-Word

33   The Saint Valentine’s Day Ball

34   The Morning After

35   Somethin’s Comin’

36   Payback’s a Bitch!

37   Pandora’s Box

38   Déjà Vu

39   Hindsight Is 20/20

40   Robert

41   The Heat Is On

42   Revelations

43   Star Trucking and Shipping Company

44   Catching Up

45   Retribution

46   Gunshots on Goose Island

47   Thank Goodness It’s Friday, or Maybe Not!

48   Breaking News

49   Rat Trap

50   Welcome Back

51   Restitution

52   Stateway Gardens

53   End of the Day

54   Things Come to Light

55   Bobby Mo and Pete the Hammer

56   OGs Take a Step Back

57   Matthew and Gloria

Chapter One

Detective Matthew Samuels

O n a cold Friday morning in January 1965, Detective Matthew Samuels arrived with a forensic team at the crime scene of a shoot-out between rival gangs. The police officer in charge at the scene told him they found three dead bodies and then pointed to one over on the sidewalk and said he was caught in the crossfire. Matthew approached the still body on the sidewalk, bent down, and looked at a kid lying there.

When he saw the youngster with a bullet wound in his head, Matthew exclaimed, Damn! stood up, and closed his eyes. This is terrible. How am I going to tell my mother’s friend about this? She asked me to try and persuade you to stop hanging around gangs in your neighborhood. I thought I had you convinced, but now—you’re dead? Why were you here? You’re just fourteen years old. What a tragic waste!

Matthew stared down at the body. His shoulders involuntarily slumped, reflecting a change in feelings from sadness to consternation and then anger.

50600.png

That evening, Matthew Samuels arrived home at 7:00 p.m. As he stepped out of his black 1962 Ford Falcon, the Chicago bitter cold air caused him to pull his wool cap down further over his ears and bring the collar up on his overcoat. He sprinted through the wrought iron gate and up the sidewalk and stairs of a two-story Greystone.

Without slowing down, he entered the beveled glass door into a small vestibule. The thick door swung shut behind him. He stomped the snow off his boots on a doormat atop the stone-tiled floor and then opened one of three brass mail cubbies on the wall with his key. One of the cubbies belonged to the building owners, who lived in the first-floor apartment, one to a tenant in the basement apartment, and the other belonged to him. He pulled out two pieces of mail.

Matthew trotted up a flight of stairs to his second-floor apartment, checking his mail on the way up. He walked to the back entrance of his apartment and stooped quickly to pick up a newspaper in front of his apartment door. The door clicked softly open as he turned the key in the lock and walked inside. When he flipped on the hallway light switch, he unconsciously acknowledged his sanctuary, causing his body to instinctively start to unwind. This was his personal, private space, and he was very selective about whom he invited inside.

He hung his heavy overcoat in a small entry closet along with his scarf and stuffed his wool gloves and hat in the coat pockets. He laid his keys, mail, and newspaper on an entry table, pulled off his boots and left them beneath the table, and then walked past a small kitchen and living room before heading up the hallway to his bedroom.

When he turned on the switch to the bedroom ceiling light, it lit up the room revealing a bed facing French doors to an outside balcony on the front of the building. The balcony was one of the features that attracted Matthew to the apartment. When the weather was nice, he liked to have his morning coffee out there, and in the evening, it was a comfortable place to relax and catch some fresh air. The only other furniture in the bedroom was a double dresser and nightstand with a lamp, a phone, and an alarm clock radio on it. There was a crucifix hanging on the wall by the doorway.

Matthew plopped down on the side of his bed and rubbed the back of his neck, twisting his head from side to side loosening up his neck muscles. Then he pulled his elbows backward, pinching his shoulder blades together. He pulled off his gun holster with the detective special and placed it inside the nightstand drawer. As he changed into sweatpants and shirt, his phone rang.

Hello.

Hello, Matthew.

Gloria?

Gloria? Who’s Gloria?

Who is this? Matthew countered.

My, how soon they forget. This is Rebecca.

Oh, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Why are you calling?

My, my, aren’t we a little testy! We are still friends, aren’t we? Can’t a friend call a friend once in a while?

Matthew dropped his head. I really don’t want to have to deal with this woman’s phony bullshit. What do you want, Rebecca?

Matthew’s tone caused Rebecca to pause before responding. Are you free for lunch tomorrow? I need your assistance with something.

Can’t you just tell me over the phone?

No, because what I want to discuss would be better face-to-face. However, if you’d rather not, I understand, Rebecca answered softly and pitifully.

Matthew pulled the receiver from his ear, looked at it incredulously, put it back up to his ear, and said, I’ve had a rough day, and I don’t see things letting up anytime soon. The earliest I can be free for lunch is next Friday.

That will be fine. Say around noonish at Top of the Roof. It’ll be my treat.

That’s all the way downtown, and I don’t have time to travel that far for lunch. What part of things not letting up does she not understand?

There was dead silence on the line. Matthew, are you still there?

Yeah, let’s meet at Dan’s Hamburger Place. It’s not too far from where I work.

I’ll be there, and it will still be my treat. I’m looking forward to seeing—

50593.png

Rebecca heard a click on the phone line as it went dead. The sound of the dial tone made her feel let down. Hmm, I guess he still hasn’t gotten over our split-up. Neither have I, but I don’t think he’s ready to hear that yet. My father’s advice, though well meaning, was wrong. I should have never let Matthew go. I’ll have to be extra charming and smooth things over when I see him. Rebecca frowned. I wonder who this Gloria is.

50587.png

Matthew padded barefoot to the bathroom. Rebecca’s phone call had awakened some painful memories and feelings he thought were dead and buried. He soaped up his hands and let the warm water from the sink faucet continuously roll over them washing away unwelcome thoughts. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror over the sink through tired eyes. He turned his head from side to side and decided he needed a shave. I’ll shave in the morning. His stomach growled letting him know he had forgotten something. I’m glad I have some of that leftover beef stew and cornbread Gloria gave me. A cold beer will hit the spot too. With that thought, he headed for the kitchen.

Later that evening, Matthew was listening to the radio in his living room. Station WVON’s Herb Kent,¹ the Cool Gent, was playing some smooth jazz and soulful R & B jams. He lay back with his eyes closed, relaxing in his black leather chair next to a window with his feet up on a matching ottoman. A book he had been trying to read lay upside down on his lap, but his mind drifted to his afternoon meeting with Mike O’Connor. Would they be able to pull off their plans to bring two of Chicago’s notorious gang bosses to justice and finally solve the murder of narcotics officer Jacob Johnson? It’s gonna be iffy because we must rely on a felon like Bobby Mo Daniels to help pull it off. This is gonna be a dicey one to put to bed.

This case was personal for both Matthew and Mike. Nailing it down was extremely important to Matthew because of his budding relationship with Gloria, Jacob Johnson’s daughter. She was his main inspiration for taking on this difficult case. Mike came out of retirement to work on the case. For him, success meant paying off an old debt he felt he owed his friend Jacob and his family.

Matthew picked up the receiver from a phone on the table by his chair and dialed Gloria’s number.

Hello.

Hey, baby, how are you this evening?

When Gloria heard Matthew’s deep voice, she tingled with pleasure, prompting her to respond alluringly, Hi, Matthew. I was just thinking about you. I’m doing good. How about you?

The sound of Gloria’s melodious, sexy voice brought a smile to Matthew’s face. I’m doing good. What are you up to?

I’m grading the last of my students’ papers on the voting drive for Black people and other poor folks in Selma, Alabama. My students are paying attention to what’s going on. I’m immensely proud of them.

May I remind you that you play a big part in sparking their motivation to keep up with important events. They are blessed to have you as their teacher, Matthew encouraged.

Gloria’s response was modest. Thank you, but for me, it is a constant challenge to keep on my toes. My students are so bright. I always have to be prepared. I love teaching because seeing young minds absorb and discern information and then ask good questions is one of the greatest experiences a person can have.

Matthew chuckled and said, You remind me so much of your father when he schooled us back in the day about Black history after coaching our basketball games. He inspired me to become a policeman just like him. I could tell he truly cared about us. He would be so proud of you.

Yeah, he’s my constant inspiration. So what are your doing other than talking to me?

I just wanted to hear your beautiful voice before turning in, and, oh, yes, your leftover stew was just what I needed since I got home late and didn’t feel like cooking.

I’m glad to have been of help.

Time and again, each of them reluctantly approached ending their conversation, but other topics of interest kept popping up. They didn’t get to bed until well after 11:00 p.m.

Chapter Two

Bobby Mo Daniels

T hat same night, Robert Morris Daniels, a.k.a. Bobby Mo, was struggling to go to sleep. He lay on his prison cell bunk wide awake. He had been a bundle of nerves all day, particularly after his parole hearing that morning. During the hearing, the Parole Board members had poker faces as he answered their questions. They thanked him but did not give a clue on how they would vote before he left the room.

His mind wouldn’t shut off. Capt. Mike O’Connor and police detective Matthew Samuels told him they would see if they could work something out to get him paroled early if he agreed to be their confidential informant (CI) when he got out. That was a no-brainer for him, but he had no way of knowing if they had followed through on their promise. He had been honest and up front with them about why he wanted their help to get out. He was terrified at wasting most of his life in prison, and suicide was not out of the question if it came to that.

The last ten years have been hell in this motherfuckin’ sewer. I gave Mike and Matthew some solid inside information about the bombing back in ’55, so they should have come through for me. Especially since I agreed to help them bring Pete the Hammer and Gus Rivera down. I’m putting my life on the line getting involved, but if it will get me out of here to be with my wife and son, so be it. I gotta get closer to my son so we can build a better relationship. It doesn’t seem real that he’s fifteen years old. He was only five when they put me in here. He needs a man’s hand on how to survive and make it in this world.

Besides, I need to clear my conscience of something that has been eating away at me for years. I need to make things right with my old friend, Officer James Owens, and his partner, Jacob Johnson, God rest his soul.

The cell block was beginning to quiet down for the night. Now and then, he heard inmates’ unintelligible conversations and other noises. Finally, a guard shouted, Lights out! Everything went dark except for a light at the main entrance to the lockup where guards were stationed. The click made by the electronic lock on his cell, ensuring he stayed inside for the night, seemed louder than usual and caused him to jump slightly.

He turned over on his side facing the wall and prayed, Please, God, let me get out of here. I will make sure You won’t regret it. He finally drifted off to sleep at around midnight.

Chapter Three

The Detective Unit

M atthew arrived at work Monday morning before his usual starting time. His heels echoed on the linoleum floor as he walked toward his desk near the front of the Detective Unit. Beams from the morning light penetrated through the slits in the blinds of a window and rested on top of his desk. The unit was noticeably quiet, and there was no one else around. He sometimes came in early to take advantage of the quiet and prepare for the day before it got noisy and hectic. Today, he needed to organize his thoughts because he and Mike were going to develop their strategy and plan for tackling the Jacob Johnson 55 (JJ55) case. Matthew’s chair creaked slightly when he sat down and leaned back. He placed his right elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his closed fist to think.

After a few minutes passed, the door to the unit swung open. A muffled sound came from a cart’s wheels rolling and stopping. A janitor pushed the cart up the aisle, emptying trash cans and ashtrays from detectives’ desks, the unit clerk’s desk, and the sergeant’s desk inside an office in front of the unit. He did the same in a small conference room located at Matthew’s left. The janitor approached Matthew’s desk last and stood waiting to get his attention.

Martin finally asked, What’s up, brother? disturbing Matthew’s concentration.

Matthew looked up, faking awareness. You, Man! How’s life been treating you?

Everything is fine with me. You were far off just now. Must be something important going on.

Well, you know, there’s always something important going on around here.

Martin rubbed the goatee on his chin thoughtfully, looking skeptically at Matthew. That’s true, but I was checking you out earlier. You didn’t hear when I came through the door with my cart. That’s not like you. Before I spoke to you, I noticed you had a serious frown on your face, like you had something sour in your mouth. How are you this morning?

Matthew smiled slyly at Martin. You don’t miss anything, do you?

Martin leaned against the end of a desk, crossed his arms, and bent toward Matthew. No, I don’t. In my line of work, I learn a lot about human nature by keeping quiet and paying attention. People will show you who they really are. Sometimes, they will outright tell you who they are, especially folks who think they are all that. He stood up and said, I don’t have to tell you, there are some crazy goings-on up in this building.

Yeah, I know. You’ve shared some pretty messed-up stuff with me that I’ve kept to myself. I’m thankful to you, Man, because you’ve saved me more than once from stepping into some deep doo-doo.

Well, you know, brothers always need to have each other’s backs.

Matthew bumped fists with Martin and said, Right on!

Whatever you are dealing with, I find it always helps to ask the Man upstairs for guidance, Martin offered.

Yeah, I know you’re right. I do need to do that.

Martin looked at his watch. It’s time for me to move on. Lots to do. See you later, Man!

Later! Matthew responded. Martin slowly pushed his cart up the aisle and out the door. Matthew stood up and extended his arms over his head, stretching his six-foot-five-inch frame. Time to get coffee.

After picking up his usual two cups of coffee, he headed back upstairs to his unit. He placed the coffee with cream and two sugars in it on the clerk’s desk. The hands on the wall clock jumped forward to 8:00.

Matthew blew and then sipped at his coffee, which he liked black. He smiled when he heard Jackie O’Connor come bustling through the unit door like clockwork. She walked straight to her desk, which faced all the detectives’ desks and was situated just outside Sgt. Lukas Andino’s office. She took off her hooded mouton lamb fur coat, put her gloves in her purse, and hung her things on a coat rack. She pulled off her boots, stashed them under her desk, and then slipped her feet into low-heel shoes.

Her intelligent green eyes came to rest on Matthew as she smiled pleasantly. Good morning, Matthew! She picked up the cup of coffee on her desk and took a sip. Hmm, good, just like I like it. Thanks!

Good morning, and you’re welcome.

Jackie sat down, pulled a rubber band out from the desk’s middle drawer, and secured her strawberry blonde hair into a ponytail. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and systematically sorted through the various folders in her in-basket.

50581.png

Jackie, short for Jacqueline, had worked for the police department for fifteen years. She was impressed with how Matthew handled himself when he first joined the unit four years earlier. Being the first Black officer to join the Detective Unit, he faced some challenges. The other detectives were standoffish at first. Some because he was a rookie who they felt needed to prove himself, and one or two who did not like the department’s affirmative action program because they felt African Americans and other minorities were being given unfair advantages.

The other Black detective in the unit, Bruce Thompson, was a whole other story. He joined the police force in 1956 and was assigned to the Detective Unit two years ago. He had a reputation for being standoffish but exceptionally good at his job. He perplexed Matthew because Bruce didn’t seem interested in his friendly overtures. Matthew soon decided to let him be.

Jackie intuitively helped Matthew get over by being outwardly accepting and friendly toward him. The detectives all respected her opinion, knew she was Capt. Mike O’Connor’s daughter, and observed she had no qualms about Matthew. Most of his coworkers mellowed toward him over time. Besides, Matthew soon