by Jim Riley
Donna rapped on the office door.
“Mr. Washington, are you in there?”
She twisted the knob. It was unlocked. Donna took a deep breath as the door opened, the revolver level with her chest. Then she stopped, frozen in her tracks.
Earl Washington sat in his plush chair behind the cherry desk. His lips formed a taut smile. The forced nature of his expression puzzled Donna.
“Mr. Washington, are you okay?”
He slowly nodded his head, the forced smile remaining. But he said nothing.
“I’m glad. For a bit there, I was getting worried.”
She dropped the revolver to her side and took the three steps to the edge of the desk. She stuck her hand out toward the broker.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
He did not raise his hand to greet Donna. It was then she saw Washington’s hands were tied beneath the desk.
“What—?”
The blow struck the back of her head. The young detective crumpled to the floor. In a semi-comatose state, she heard the broker begging. Pleading.
Then she heard an explosion. The rest of the event slipped past her mind. She imagined holding her revolver in her hand, pointing it at the stockbroker and pulling the trigger. Another explosion. She struggled to open her eyes, but they failed to cooperate.
She heard the door closing, but it was far, far away. Then her world went dark.
14
Zachary
Drexel Robinson watched John David ‘Sleazy’ Slocum backing out of the driveway in the Ford F150 pickup. The dark gray vehicle blended into the black night.
The truck left the Fenwood subdivision in Zachary and turned south on Highway 64 toward Baton Rouge. It passed the ramp to the interstate and went straight.
When Slocum reached Florida Boulevard, he turned right, heading west toward the Mississippi River and downtown Baton Rouge. At the edge of the Mississippi, Slocum turned into the Riverfront Hotel, one of the more upscale establishments in the area.
Drexel tried to close the distance, but two other vehicles squeezed in front of him at the multilevel parking garage. The protective bar across the entrance did not raise until it was his turn to take a time–stamped ticket. He flew up the ramp until he saw Slocum going through the glass doors to the elevator.
Robinson slowed down and watched Slocum hit the down button. Then the senior detective searched for a place to park. All the spots next to the elevator access were taken.
He found an empty space one floor above the access doors. Drexel raced down the ramp and banged on the down button. He glanced at the stairwell and consider running down the four floors to the bottom.
He punched the down button again. The detective heard an elevator stop and soon after, the doors slowly opened. Four other people, two men and two women were already inside the elevator. They were dressed in formal attire, black tuxedos for the men and expensive full-length gowns for the ladies. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires accented the distinguished women’s choices of dresses.
Drexel hopped in and banged on the first floor button. Then he impatiently get the close door button.
“She must be cute,” one gentleman behind him commented.
“Huh?” Drexel was not paying attention.
“I said the young lady you’re meeting must be cute. Or rich. Those are the only reasons to be in that big of a hurry to get down there to see her.” All four laughed.
“Yeah. Cute and rich,” he responded.
“As long as your wife doesn’t find out. If she does, you won’t be cute or rich very long.”
More laughter from the four.
When the doors inched open in the lobby of the hotel, Drexel leapt out of the elevator, quickly scanning the entire room. Slocum was not at the check-in counter. He was not at the concierge kiosk. He was not waiting at the bank of elevators to the guest rooms.
Drexel double checked, this time more slowly. A thorough examination of the plush lobby revealed no sign of Slocum. Two more possibilities, he thought: the bar and the guest shop.
He took the guest shop first, his logic being that if Slocum went to the bar, the businessman would take longer there than if he stopped to buy a quick gift or some flowers. Drexel walked into the shop and did a quick surveillance. No Slocum.
An aisle by aisle examination confirmed Slocum was not in the store. He walked as fast as he could without attracting attention. In less than two minutes, he entered the posh bar. It took another minute for his eyes to adjust to the diminished lighting.
No immediate sighting of the elusive target. Drexel ambled through the room as though searching for a business associate. He did not spot Slocum.
Drexel went to the bar and sat at the end, giving him a full view of the room and the door. The bartender sat a premium beer on the napkin.
“I’m looking for a friend. About six feet three inches, overweight, black hair with a little gray.”
The bartender looked up as if seeing Drexel for the first time.
“Only about two hundred guys a night fitting that description come in here. Sorry.”
The bartender turned his back and edged down the bar. Drexel opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. He left a twenty and walked back to the hotel atrium.
He stared at the bank of elevators. It was possible Slocum caught one and was now comfortable in a guest room. The slow elevator from the parking garage had afforded the target time to disappear. One way to find out.
Drexel walked over to a plush seat and sat down. He picked up the house phone from the table next to him.
“Can you connect me to John David Slocum’s room, please?” He said when the hotel operator picked up.
“Hmm,” the operator said while checking the electronic registry. “Sorry, Sir. We don’t have a guest by that name registered with us tonight.”
“He might be using his nickname. Do you have a fellow named Sleazy Slocum registered?”
More hesitation. “No, Sir. Nobody by that name is registered tonight.”
“He must be staying somewhere else.”
Drexel hung up the phone wondering how he would explain to Niki he had lost the target in the expensive hotel. That was a conversation he was not looking forward to with eager anticipation.
15
Central
Niki grabbed a quick bite at the Chinese buffet in Central. Unlike similar establishments across the country, this local restaurant offered delicacies from South Louisiana. Fried frog legs. Fried shrimp. Oysters on the half shell. Fried catfish. Boiled crawfish. Niki found these cultural favorites as well prepared as the twice cooked pork, the Moo Goo Gaipan, and egg rolls.
The investigator tried the fried shrimp dipped in a combination of hot mustard and sweet-and-sour sauce. Then she had to try the boiled crawfish. No self-respecting resident of the southern part of the Pelican state ever passed up the seasonal mudbugs.
She popped a shrimp into her mouth when someone stepped beside her table, towering over the seated investigator. She raised her gaze to find Ricky Delrie, the freshman coach of the football team at Central High.
Niki realized she was at a distinct disadvantage, being two feet below the powerful athlete with both legs trapped beneath the table. The coach stood at the end of the bench, preventing her from getting free without upending the table and making a huge scene. She was friends with the owners and did not want to cause a disturbance within the facility.
“May I help you?” Niki addressed Ricky.
“We have some unfinished business,” he grunted, his fists balled up by his sides.
“There is no reason to finish it in here. The owners of this buffet are not part of our disagreement. I’d rather meet you outside.”
Niki knew that one–on–one, with her legs and feet unencumbered, the advantage was hers. Despite the extra muscles, Coach Ricky was not an experienced fighter. In a fair setting, he was no match for the investigator trained in martial arts.
“No, I
want to settle this right here. Right now.” The coach took another half step toward the table.
Niki considered stabbing the coach in his leg with the fork in her left hand. The pain of the puncture would give the detective time to get from under the table, and on her feet. But it would also leave a bloody mess while the other diners tried to enjoy their meals.
The other option was a quick backhand to the big man’s groin, which he was leaving unprotected, something an experienced fighter would never do. He might back into a table, but that scenario was better than her original plan of attack. Niki laid the fork on her plate, bought her hand into a fist and tensed her muscles. A split second before she struck, the coach took a quick step sideways and slid into the bench seat on the opposite side of the table.
“Look, I want to apologize for what happened at the school. It was stupid on my part.”
Ricky folded his hands in front of him on the table.
Niki took a second to decompress. She saw the embarrassment across Ricky’s face and atonement in the young man’s voice.
“Apology accepted.” She stuck out a hand.
He accepted it and shook it with vigor.
“Thank you. I would like to explain what drove me to do it.”
“Would you like something to eat or drink while you’re here? My treat.”
“I’ll take a Dr Pepper.”
They waited until Ricky received the drink before continuing. He drank half the glassful in one long swig.
“You fight really well,” he said.
“Do you mean I fight well for a girl?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that too. It's going to take me a long time to live this down.”
He touched his two black guys gingerly, as if an afterthought.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t let it go on very long. You're a lot bigger and stronger than I am.”
He laughed. “That didn’t keep you from horsewhipping my butt in front of the kids. I don’t know how I’ll ever get the respect back.”
“You can start by being a gentleman. This is a good start with you coming here today.”
Ricky dropped his gaze to the soda.
“You might not think so when I tell you what I came to say.”
“Try me. You never know.”
“I want you to quit this silly investigation. Flavia and LaDonne are great young ladies. I’ve had both in my science class. They are two of the finest girls at Central.”
“Because Bailey is also a fine coach and teacher at Central. Doesn’t he deserve the truth?”
Ricky sighed. “You already have the truth. Billy molested those two girls. I don’t have any doubt about that.”
“What brings you to this conclusion?”
“There aren’t many secrets in Central. Everybody knows everything.”
“And just what does everybody know?” Niki asked.
“That the coach and Flavia had a thing going on in the film room. That he told Flavia if she didn’t do as he asked, he would expose her little brother for selling dope at school.”
“The one that is a sophomore?”
“Yeah. Sean. I coached him last year as a freshman.”
Niki took a notepad from her bag. “Is it true? Is Sean dealing drugs?”
Delrie shrugged. “I don’t know. I know that he never failed a drug test as a player. All players have to piss in a bottle at least three times during the season. He was always clean.”
“Have you asked Flavia about this?”
“No. But all the kids are talking about it.”
Niki scoffed. “Student.com. Twitter, Facebook, cell phones. No rumor goes untold in that network.”
“Maybe so. I can’t argue that some things I hear are absurd. But that doesn’t mean the rest of it isn’t true.”
“Let me make sure I understand. According to student.com, Coach Bailey was blackmailing Flavia into having sex with him. They supposedly did it in the film room after football practice and cheerleading practice?”
"Correct." The freshman coach nodded.
"Did any of the other students ever witness Flavia going into the film room?"
"None are admitting it. But LaDonne is saying that Flavia told her it happened, and that is one girl I believe. She and Flavia are close. I mean, as close as friends can be."
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
He shrugged. "That's been around for a long time. No new news there."
"They don't look like—" Niki protested. "Boy, that's stupid. What do lesbians look like?"
"Not like those two, for sure. That's why I always had trouble believing it. Also, Flavia has a boyfriend. Steve King. He was the starting quarterback before Billy came to Central."
Niki tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. However, the young coach was adding more pieces that did not fit. Her puzzle was getting bigger and more complicated.
"Let me guess. According to the rumor mill, Coach Bailey threatened to disclose the relationship unless both girls did what he wanted."
Ricky nodded. "That's about the size of it."
"Have you talked directly to either of the girls?"
"That's not my place, but I heard about the contest the varsity took on the girls."
Niki paused.
"Were you there or did you hear about it?"
"I heard about it. Sean told me. He said it was embarrassing to hear about the other guys voting on his sister's boobs. Then when Coach Bailey voted with them, it was too much. He told me."
"What did you do about it? Did you go to the principal? The school board? What?"
Ricky flushed. "I didn't do anything. I work for the man. If word got out that I took something like that to the school board, what do you think my future would look like?"
"So you didn't tell anyone about this egregious act by the head coach?"
He again stared at his soda glass.
"I might have mentioned it to a few of the students in my class."
Niki blew out a long breath. "And you wonder where the rumors on student.com start?"
"That wasn't a rumor. It was the truth. I only wanted—I don't know what I wanted, but I didn't start a rumor. I told the truth."
“And you figured that if enough people knew about it, then it would eventually reach the ears of somebody on the school board, and they would fire Bailey. Am I close?"
Ricky refused to answer. He kept staring at the glass of Dr Pepper.
"Now you want me to forget about searching for the truth and let public opinion carry Bailey straight to Angola. Is that your plan?" Niki's voice rose in the buffet restaurant.
"No. I wanted to apologize to you for what happened at school. I also wanted you to know all the facts, to save you some time before you embarrass yourself and your company."
Niki could feel her temples throb.
"My reputation and my company's reputation will rest on the truth, whatever that is. If Bailey molested those two young girls, I will be the first one to testify for the prosecution. But I don't believe he is guilty."
Ricky half smiled. "You and Sara Sue, huh?"
"What?" Niki's face turned deep red.
"You have to know what is being said after about you and the pretty coach's wife. Do you think we're all stupid?"
"You're making a damn big case for it. For your information, Sara Sue provides temporary workers for my business. We have become friends through that relationship. Nothing more. Nothing less." Her fists clenched involuntarily.
"Right," Ricky replied, the sarcasm in his voice clear. "And you decided, because of this relationship with Sara Sue, to defend that molesting scumbag that you've never met? Who looks stupid now?"
Ricky looked smug, taking a sip on his soda. He even smiled, thinking he had just gotten the upper hand on the girl that had humiliated him in front of the students.
"I have my reasons for taking the case. I see no reason to reveal them to you. But I can tell you, I am in a relationship with someone. I love Dalton Bridgestone,
the sitting United States Senator from Louisiana."
Ricky was speechless. He had been so sure he could expose the detective and the coach's wife. Now he was left with an empty hand. Well, not exactly empty. He still had one trump card to play.
"Your friend won't be so smug when the truth about Flavia Foster comes out," he sneered.
Niki shrugged. "Another student.com rumor?"
"Nope. There will be no doubt about this one."
Niki shook her head. "I've got a feeling you will tell me whether or not I want you to."
Ricky had an evil smile as he spoke the words.
"Flavia Foster is pregnant."
The freshman coach left Niki at the table with her mouth wide open. She watched him disappear through the glass doors before she could absorb the full impact. If Flavia Foster was carrying Billy Bailey's child, he was guilty no matter the circumstances.
Donna could see through the fog, but the vision remained a cloudy. She heard the moan emanate from deep within her body. The back of her head pounded, a hammer striking from within every three seconds. The back of her eyes burned like they were on fire.
The young detective felt the not on the crown of her skull. No blood, but sore to the point of unbearable to touch. She rolled over and tried to rise to her knees. The dizziness swallowed her entirely, preventing her body from maintaining its feeble balance. She collapsed to the floor, darkness engulfing her entirely.
Later, and she had no idea how much later, her eyes opened again. The fog subsided and her vision improved greatly. The hammering in the back of her head reduced to a sharp tingling. When she felt for the knot on the top of her head, it was barely noticeable.
Donna rolled up on her knees. The first thing she saw was her thirty-eight Dan Wesson revolver. Grateful that it was not taken, she snatched it up. Holding the weapon with unsteady hands, she rose in the dark room.
The door flew open and lights flooded the room, temporarily blinding the young detective. A scream pierced the air, echoing in her ears. When Donna opened her eyes, she saw the back of an elderly Hispanic lady running away from her down the hallway, still screaming at the top of her lungs.
