Black Heat

By Vincent Alexandria

The world comes crashing down when one of Detective Joe Johnson’s enemies orders his family to be killed. Detective Joe Johnson must rely on his partner, Vernon Brown and his hoodlum friends to spoil the murderous plot and face his own demons as he enters into this mystery of Black Heat. This story is a page turner from the beginning to end. An action-packed story with comedy, romance, and suspense that will have you anticipating the killer’s next move.

www.vincentalexandria.net

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398471764

Vincent Alexandria

Vincent Alexandria is a nationally published author, who resides in Houston, Texas. He is an actor, producer, director, composer, poet, screenwriter, vocalist and musician. He is a Graduate of Rockhurst College and got his Masters degree Baker University. He is the founder of the Brother 2 Brother Literary Symposium. Its mission is to enlighten men and women in reading and literacy in order to enhance their quality of life. Over twenty-five nationally published authors volunteer their time in free panel discussion and give away free books. The website for the symposium is www.b2bls.com. He has completed four award winning murder detective mystery novels with Harlequin Books. He has finished his first short film, Black Rain that can be viewed on www.eyesoda.com. He is currently shopping this film for a major movie deal. Vincent’s children book series, “Marvelous Martin and the Case of Mr. Bean” & “Marvelous Martin and the Case of Freddy Freeman and the Freckled Faced Bully” will be released April 2009 by Marimba Books (Kensington/Justus Books). He is currently shopping his other children’s book, Preston the Rain Drop’s First Spring Shower.

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About the Author

Vincent Alexandria is a nationally published author, who resides in Kansas City, Missouri. He is married and is an actor, producer, director, composer, lyricist, playwright, screenwriter, ghost writer, children’s author, vocalist, and bass musician. He holds a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from Rockhurst College and a Master’s degree in literature from Baker University. He is working on his Doctoral degree from Southern California University Online.

He is the founder of the Brother 2 Brother Literary Symposium. Its mission is to enlighten men and women in reading and comprehension in order to enhance their quality of life. Nationally published authors show a commitment to their communities by giving back to their readers in gratitude of what they have done for them and their careers.

He has completed four murder detective mystery novels and has signed a book contract for If Walls Could Talk, and Postal Blues.

Vincent has completed his first short film for his novel, Black Rain and is currently marketing it for a major movie deal. You can view the short-film on YouTube at Vincent Alexandria/Black Rain.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my parents:

Mary and Cefous Alexandria, My Brothers; Joe Johnson, Donald Johnson, and Cefous Alexander.

My God Mother, Jenny Young

My friends: Mike Voss, T.C. Griddine, Darryl Kemp, and Less Brown

Copyright Information ©

Vincent Alexandria 2022

The right of Vincent Alexandria to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528980692 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398471764 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

First, I would like to thank the Almighty God for giving me the gift of writing and to pursue my dream of writing for living. He has blessed me immensely with a wonderful family and support system of friends and fans.

To my wife, Diana Brooks-Alexandria, the love of my life and Team Alexandria, thank you for your support with this project and all my dreams. Loving you is easy, my children.

To my sister Linda Alexandria who is always my first critique. I love you the most.

To Austin Macauley Publishers, for this opportunity to get my new work out to the reading public. I am grateful.

To my children, Randi, Azia, Royce, and Nia Alexandria and to my support group that has come through for me on numerous occasions; De’ron and Tyhesis Lloyd, Raven Stubbs.

And my number one fan Carrie Brooks-Brown, Joe Loves you! To my great friend and muse Martine Tareaud for always inspiring me when I get low with words and great artwork for my book covers and marketing materials.

Chapter One

Killer Joe

I’m detective Joe Johnson. Today is a good day, just like about every other day is for me. Oh, I have my bad days, and when they’re bad, they’re really bad. Today is kind of different. I’m in my squad car with my older partner and mentor, Vernon Brown. He’s saved my ass on more than one occasion and has helped me develop into a decorated detective, just like him.

He has had my back since the first day I met him and although we are different, we are a lot alike when it comes to police work. We work hard, ask a lot of questions, and won’t stop on a case until we solve it. We’ve got promoted to sergeant together and have gotten awards from our department as well as the FBI when we’ve had to help out with their cases on occasion.

Vernon is not only a great person that is super intelligent, he’s my best friend as well. I look over at my aging detective friend and get an idea.

Vernon, let’s see if Stony Clark is at his girlfriend’s place. It’s just down the street and we have to go there anyway today, so we might as well stop by on our way into the office. Vernon pulls his backup pistol from his ankle holster and checks it.

I do the same. Damn, Vernon. You sure you want to do this right now? Man, we just came from a breakfast meeting and we are not dressed for a foot chase if this guy decides to run. Look at our shoes.

Vernon looks down at both our Stacy Adams wingtip gator shoes that match our slightly off-coloured linen outfits. We both had to present to the Ad-Hoc Group Against Crime on the growing number of homicides in the black neighbourhood.

We were dressed professionally and had planned on changing our clothes once the breakfast was over and we had reported to our South Precinct office.

Vernon smiles, Yeah, but we look good, though. He ain’t gonna run. These fools heard about us, Joe. We’re detectives and we damn good. The FBI has us help them on cases.

We place our guns back in our ankle holsters and I switch to the left lane to pull into the Gilliam Park Apartments. Stony Clark is a key suspect in three murders and we haven’t been able to question him. He is a small-time drug dealer with a short fuse and bad attitude. He’s been trying to move in on another dealer’s turf around the 35th and Prospect area in midtown Kansas City.

I used to play street basketball with Stony when I was home from college. I’ve known him since grade school. We all knew he was crazy. I remember in our childhood days, he would fight anybody, no matter how old they were. He’d get the crap beat out of him sometimes, but he’d never back down. When we were older and finished playing basketball in the dirt court on our block, we all used to keep cold water, sodas and beers iced down in our coolers. Stony would have his filled with beer and Robitussin cough medicine with codeine.

Stony is about five feet and six inches and is a mud brown colour. He always wears cornrows in his hair and looks like Avery Johnson, a former NBA basketball player and coach.

We pull into the parking spot in front of the apartment building where Stony’s girlfriend, Monica Miller, lives. Monica is a big-boned sister. She is cute in her own way and as nice as Christmas.

She has big inviting eyes, medium-length, black curly hair that she always keeps nice, and full lips, hips, and breasts; that just stand out and greet you with a smile. She takes pride in how she carries herself, like that comedienne and actress, Mo’nique.

She is the only woman I know who can beat any man in dominoes. I know that, because she whipped me and Vernon in the domino tournaments that the Newsome brothers put on in Kansas City each year.

She beat me and Vernon in the third round of the tournament, and she got one hundred dollars out of me in side bets alone, I think twice as much from Vernon, but he was too embarrassed to tell me how much he actually lost.

This midtown apartment is red-brick and used to be pretty upscale, until the brothers and sisters moved in and the white people moved out. It is still pretty well kept, and each apartment has a balcony. The apartment building has twelve floors, and Monica stays on the eighth, if I remember correctly.

Stony used to always be hanging around Monica at our high school. He loved her from the first day he saw her full hips walking down the hall. She sashayed so much, her hips almost pushed that boy into the lockers. She liked her some Stony, too. When I went off to college, Monica set herself up a beauty shop and got her this place, and Stony has been sniffing around ever since. She never married him, because she said he had to get right first. Stony could never keep it together long enough to make that marriage happen. They got engaged twice. But she never gave up on that man. Never!

Man, I hope this don’t take long. I’m not trying to be out in this hot sun all day, Vernon.

Vernon smirks. Joe, let’s just check it out. If he ain’t here, we can tell Commissioner Wayne that we checked the place out and will get back out on the streets later today and search for him. Vernon gets out of the car and closes the door. I see him jump away from the car as he screams, Joe, get down!

I duck down in the seat. There is a thundering crash on the roof of the car, and the windshield and windows shatter. I look up and see Monica’s body splayed across the broken windshield. Her blood splatters my off-white linen outfit.

Wiping the blood and glass off my face, I then kick the damaged squad car door open. When Vernon and I check Monica’s pulse, we see that her neck has been broken and she is dead. Dressed in jeans and a brown Bob Marley T-shirt, she is barefoot and looks beautiful, even in death.

Vernon and I look up as Stony looks down at us from the eighth-floor balcony with a crazed look on his face. His eyes are wide and his mouth is foaming. His hair is standing wild all over his head, no cornrows today, and his shirt is dirty and torn. I don’t see a weapon, but I have to assume he has one.

He spits at us and yells, What? How she gonna tell me she’s leaving me! Ain’t no bitch leaving me, not alive. Spittle springs from his lips as he screams. His small muscles flinch in his arms and neck. He is sweating profusely. Stony’s face is contorted and menacing. He smirks at me, then he waves me up.

Come on up, brotha. Somebody gonna die today, and you best believe that. It might as well be you! Feel me? He turns and walks from the balcony.

I pull my gun and turn to Vernon, Call this in and cover the front. I got Stony. I run to the front door of the apartment complex as curious people start to run toward the scene to see what happened.

As I enter the apartment building, residents are running down the steps and out of the building. Women are holding and guiding their children down the wooden stairwell as men rush past me as well. I hide my gun by my hip as I slither through the anxious apartment occupants.

I am slightly winded when I get to the foyer of the eighth floor. I promise myself to add an extra half hour to my stair stepper exercises. These new alligator shoes aren’t helping the situation at all. Raising my gun, I pull open the door, holding it ajar with my foot. I peep around the door into the hallway that is illuminated by the afternoon sun and fluorescent lights.

Stony is standing in the hallway in front of Monica’s apartment. He has a twelve-inch butcher knife in his hand. He still looks crazed and is sweating even more profusely than before. I shiver at the sly smile he has on his face. I would like nothing more than to talk him down and walk him out the building, but it is quite clear that he has a death wish. This is not the childhood friend I played so many days of basketball with.

Stony taps the butcher knife against his left thigh. So, Johnson, I see you still got balls of steel. You know one of us is not leaving here alive today, right?

Stony, what up, dawg? Why don’t we cut the crap, go out to the car, and pop a couple bottles of Robitussin and talk. Nobody else needs to be hurt today. I attempt to keep him talking, while keeping a keen eye on his left hand with the gleaming, stainless steel butcher knife.

Stony switches the menacing blade to his right hand. He shifts his weight, tilts his head and squints. Joe, you thought I was foolin’ with you, huh? You can’t win, brotha. I ain’t scared to die and that gives me the advantage, he says, slashing his forearm with the sharp knife as his blood slowly drips to the floor.

I stare at him while pulling my metal police retractable baton from my ankle holster and place my gun in the small of my back. Look, Stony, I don’t want to kill you, dude. We go way back. Those drugs you taking got you crazy, man, and you wrong. I have the advantage.

I position myself in the middle of the hallway. I have Stony by about one hundred pounds, but what he lacks in weight, he makes up for with speed. He is quick as hell. He fakes as if he’s going to rush me and then he bursts out laughing. I’m now thankful for the boxing and karate training I’ve had at the police academy and the FBI.

You scared, ain’t you, brotha? Stony smirks with foam forming at the corner of his dry mouth.

I nod my head apologetically. Yeah, Stony, I’m scared I’m going to have to put you down, brotha. Let’s cut this foolishness out and get your arm looked at so you can stop all that bleeding. I try to ease the situation.

Stony looks at my feet, then up at me. Them some nice gators, and I like that outfit, too. Shit, they’ll be able to take you straight to the funeral home.

Stony rushes me with the knife, but he is slightly off balance from his rage and high. I sidestep him and slap his forearm with the baton. He quickly regains his mad composure. He rushes me again, swinging the knife wildly. I try to stay calm as I focus on my footwork and balance. I block the knife with my baton and punch Stony on the side of his head with a powerful blow.

He screams with frustration as he gets up off the floor with his hand holding the place where I hit him. His nostrils flare as I back up and put some space between us. Stony, we don’t have to do this. Think about what you are doing. You killed Monica. She loved your crazy ass more than you loved yourself. Look at you, Stony. Look at what you’ve turned into, man. You are better than this.

Stony breathes unevenly and his whole body rises with each breath. He frowns and screams like a beast as he attacks me. We fall over and the knife slashes the front of my shirt. I grab both his hands as we struggle in the hallway. A stinging sensation engulfs my chest and as I look down, I notice that blood is showing through my shirt.

I release Stony’s left hand that is free of the knife and elbow him as hard as I can on his chin. We roll twice as we continue to struggle for the knife. Stony headbutts me in the chest and pushes me across the wooden floor. We scramble to our feet. As soon as he is standing, he runs towards me holding the knife above his head. I have dropped my baton and have no choice but to reach behind my back and pull my .40 calibre handgun and fire three shots at his chest. That pushes Stony five steps back, and he falls to the floor.

I walk to him and kick the knife away. Dammit, Stony. Why didn’t you listen, asshole? My eyes mist as I take off my shirt and hold it over his gunshot wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. I raise his head and say a silent prayer. Stony shakes and takes his last breath. I close his eyes and put my shirt over his face.

Vernon and two other officers rush into the hallway breathing heavy.

You all right, Joe? Vernon asks as he helps me up.

I just stare at Stony and look at Monica’s apartment littered with