Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

Charlie knew she couldn’t lie about her name. It would have been stupid. “What do y’all want?”

“Can we come in?”

“Whatever,” she grumbled, stepping aside.

She realized that changing her temperament toward them would be wise. She asked with a polite smile, “Y’all want coffee or something?”

The tough talking, slick mouthed gangster bitch diva that she was became muted. This was murder, and she wanted to get out from under suspicion and investigation.

“No thanks.”

The detectives told her that her name had come up in a murder investigation and they started to ask her a few questions. The one question that gave Charlie pause was, “Have you ever been to 576 Little Town Road, apartment 3f in Middle Village, New Jersey to see a Godfrey Williams, or God, as the streets called him?”

Charlie knew that if she denied being there and they found her DNA on the scene, she would be fucked. But, if she said yes and no DNA was found, she would be opening the door to additional questioning. She inhaled to buy herself some time to think. She remembered the number-one rule—don’t snitch—and she certainly wasn’t going to snitch on herself.

“No, I never been there. We broke up some time before he was killed,” she lied.

“Was there any animosity between you two?”

She watched as they jotted down notes to her answers. Again, another question to stump her. She was trying to play chess with the detectives. Why not build some trust by giving them some truth?

“Honestly, there was. I broke

up with him because I had reasons to believe he might have had something to do with my sister’s rape,” she said.

She figured it would be a huge revelation, but she was stunned when one of the detectives said, “Yeah, we’ve heard about that, and the DNA has come back conclusive. He did rape your sister. But we also heard that you were the mastermind behind it.”

Wait? What? She was taken aback by their reply. They already knew. New Jersey? These sneaky muthafuckas! Now she wondered what their true intentions were. Were they there for God’s murder, her sister’s rape, or Mateo’s attempted murder? Charlie started to feel foolish and wondered if it was stupid to talk to them without a lawyer.

“I didn’t know,” she replied, appearing to be somewhat offended. She pushed back from the table and she started to sob. “I could never do such a thing to my baby sister!” she wailed.

The detectives were unaffected by her outburst. They weren’t there to give her any sympathy. They were there to solve a case. They continued to press.

“Do you know why you would be implicated?”

“No! Of course not. Just ask Chanel, she’ll tell you.”

“We are trying to find her. Could you give us your sister’s address?”

Charlie stammered, “I-I-I don’t have an address for her.”

“No. Why not?” They were confused.

“I mean, I do have an address for her, but I can’t give it. She went into hiding after that nasty pervert raped her.”

“But you’re facing serious charges, so I’m sure your sister will understand you giving us her address to help us clear your name.”

It felt like the questions from the detectives would never end. They kept coming for her, like they wanted her to slip up and say something incriminating. Them challenging her brought out the real Charlie.

“You know what? I think I’m done here,” she snapped. “Y’all can leave now, and next time I talk to y’all, I will have a lawyer present.”

They were dumbfounded by the sudden change.

“We’ll have a warrant next time,” one of them replied.

“Get the fuck out!” she shouted. “Fuckin’ pigs!”

Calmly, they left the place. Charlie was upset and nervous at the same time. A few minutes later, she realized that she had played her hand wrong. She let her temper get the best of her. They were New Jersey detectives and most likely they didn’t have any jurisdiction over Chanel’s case in the Bronx. Chanel’s rape was just a ruse to upset her, and she fell for it.