George Pelecanos by DC Noir

Author:DC Noir
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

BY LESTER IRBY

Edgewood, N.E.

The Fantasy Nightclub used to sit on the corner of 14th and U Streets, N.W., in what was then D.C.’s red-light district. Pimps, whores, players, drug dealers, and every other sort of hustler swarming the deadly streets of the Chocolate City frequented this establishment. Even a sprinkle of lawyers and local politicians wandered through from time to time.

The year was 1970. On a warm and pleasant Friday night in September, the folks inside of this enclave of sinful joy were at their partying best. Drinks were being gulped down at a rapid pace. Coke and “doogie” snorted even quicker, and couples gyrated, cutting the rug as the fiery sounds of the Temptations’ smash hit “Ball of Confusion” heated the mood to an even higher pitch.

At approximately 12:30 a.m. the club was filled to its maximum capacity. A boisterous crowd of latecomers stood outside the club’s front entrance pleading with the muscular bouncers to let them in.

“Look, muthafuckas,” said Granite, one of the several mean men hired by the owner to keep peace in the house. “There ain’t no mo’ muthafuckin’ room in the place, so shut the fuck up and get ta steppin’, fo’ I put a hot-ball inside somebody’s ass.”

Granite had a take-no-shit-off-nobody attitude and reputation. He also had pay-me-for-protection partners feared by many, so certain big-time entrepreneur/hustlers readily hired his crew to keep their businesses moving smoothly.

While Granite and the other bouncers were trying to quiet and disperse the crowd, two gorgeous hookers, one black and the other white, left the dance floor and entered the ladies’ room to cool down and freshen up.

Several minutes later, awful cries for help were heard clearly over the loud music—screams eerily vibrating from within the ladies’ room.

Inside the rest room, the five-foot-eight curvaceous and strikingly beautiful Sarah Ward was discovered dead. She hovered over the toilet with her head completely submerged inside the piss-filled bowl. She had been strangled and drowned, and, according to the pathologist who later performed an autopsy, “beaten unmercifully moments before,” as evidenced by multiple facial bone fractures.

Who tortured and killed this beautiful woman?

My name is Felicia “Fee-Fee” Taylor. I attended the Fantasy Club that night. I am the sister of Raymond “Smooth” Taylor Jr., and I was once the number-one girlfriend of the notorious Zack Amos, the flamboyant yet smart, crafty, and feared drug kingpin of our nation’s capital.

My exman and brother play major roles in the story that

I am about to tell you, and they are significantly linked to the murder of Sarah Ward. I too am linked significantly to that terrible tragedy, as is undercover police officer Ted Jenkins, who was also present that night. But before I go into the details of that event, I desire and very much need to share some things about myself. I was raised in the Edgewood section of Northeast D.C. Born January 13, 1952, the youngest of two children, I was spoiled rotten by my parents, Raymond and Patricia Taylor, and even more so by my grandma, Nanny Johnson.

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