Alibi

by Teri Woods

  “You okay, Tommy? You look like you’re out in space. Earth to Tommy, hello in there,” she said, waving her hand in front of his eyes as she bent face to face with him, stared into his eyes, and kissed his lips softly. “Do you hear me, Tommy?”

  “Yeah, Viv, I’m just thinking.”

  “Well, come on, think and eat. I got all your favorites, salad with Italian dressing, chicken parmigiana, with melted mozzarella, thin spaghetti and homemade gravy, and fresh cannolis for dessert that I picked up from your Uncle Vito’s bakery.”

  “No way, you went down to Uncle Vito’s?”

  “Yeah, I did, just for you, Tommy, just for you,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I worry about you, Tommy, seriously.”

  “I know Viv, I know. I’m okay. I’m keeping it together. It’s all good, no need to worry.”

  “What about work, what’s going on with the Somerset Killer case?” she asked, letting him go and making her way back into the kitchen.

  “Viv, you’re killing me here. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “The newspaper said that trial had to be postponed because the witness whose identity was being withheld was missing.”

  “Yeah, another headache. Viv, really, I don’t want to talk about work. I just want to have a nice, quiet night at home with you.”

  “Okay, fine, we don’t have to talk about it.” She paused for a moment. “I got the biggest break in one of my cases today. Seriously, Tommy, huge break, remember the bank case and everything, all those tedious hours of watching bank surveillance video? I swear you won’t believe it. Finally, a real person, can you believe it. Some girl was stupid enough to walk into a bank, take fifty thousand dollars out, and use her real name. It’s unbelievable. We got her real name, her real address, everything, and get this, guess what the best part is?”

  “Viv, you know what, I don’t care what the best part is. I told you I don’t want to talk about work, not mine, not yours, not anything. Can’t we just pretend for once that you’re a secretary instead of an FBI agent? And how about we can pretend that I’m a former police detective, being as Captain Dan is going to have my badge if… I don’t even want to talk about it,” said Tommy, shaking off thoughts of the worst outcome possible. He couldn’t help thinking about the murders he and his partner, Merva Ross, were unable to solve. While they had captured Bernard Guess and had him in custody awaiting trial, there was someone else out there leaving a string of dead bodies behind, and it all connected to the Somerset murders.

  “Tommy, I’m sorry. Really, come on, sit down, let’s just eat dinner. We don’t have to talk, okay?” said Vivian, not wanting to upset him. Just as she sat down and asked him to pass the salad dressing, her pager went off.

  “See, we can’t even have a quiet dinner at home, just the two of us, Viv.”

  “Yes, we can. Let me just check in. It’s Chambers.”

  Vivian picked up the phone and dialed Chambers back. She waited, the phone rang twice, he picked up. Tommy continued with dinner. Digging into the plate of chicken parmigiana, adding gravy to his spaghetti, he listened to a one-sided conversation.

  “I knew she’d show up. They always do. I’m coming in. I want to make the arrest. I’ll be there.”

  “A quiet meal together, just the two of us?” he questioned as he watched her hang up the phone.

  “Tommy, my case, we’ve located this Fothergill character. I’ve got to go,” she said, gathering her hair and pulling it back into a ponytail. Did she just say Fothergill? Can’t be, can’t be the same person. She ran into their bedroom and grabbed the Brics carryon bag that she kept in the corner of her closet, packed and ready to go for great-escape emergencies such as this.

  “You said Fothergill?” he questioned slyly.

  Tommy stood still, watching her spin herself around her apartment like a Tasmanian devil. Within less than three minutes, she was at the door, Brics bag, purse, and lightweight jacket all in hand.

  “Yeah, she cashed in on a fraudulent check and walked out of a bank with fifty thousand dollars.”

  “What’s the name again?”

  “Fothergill, um, like Daisy something or other. Here, kiss me, and don’t be mad, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Mad, are you insane. I can’t fucking believe you,” he said, delighted, a complete personality change from the grumpy, disengaged boyfriend she had been having dinner with. He picked her up and kissed her. “Viv, she’s the missing witness we’ve been looking for, the unidentified witness from the newspaper headlines. You don’t know, Vivian, you just saved my ass. Come on, let’s go, I have to bring her in, she has to get back here to testify.”

  “Wow, I thought you didn’t want to talk about my work,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Are you nuts, I want to hear about your work every day from now on, baby. Oh, my god, Vivian, I fucking love you. You are the best, babe, the best, you know that? I could marry you right now,” he said, grabbing her head and kissing her face.

  “Well, aren’t you the excited one. Come on, let’s go get your star witness and then we can go look at rings,” said Vivian, closing and locking her door behind them.

  “Viv, I said I could marry you right now, I said nothing about later.”

  “Whatever, Tommy, whatever. Remember, um, don’t you need your witness?”

  “So, you want to shop for rings?”

  “Do I?” she said, smiling again.

  BUSTED

  Daisy was busy in the kitchen making her first attempt at preparing Billy a home-cooked meal. He said his favorite was meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and that he could eat it every day of his life and be content. It was a simple meal for a simple man. However, it was turning out to be rather difficult for her to prepare. Poor Daisy had never attempted to cook for herself, let alone for a man. She had cut her finger twice trying to cut the skin off the potatoes, so instead, she was boiling them skin on. We’ll figure out how to get the skin off later or maybe we’ll just have mashed potatoes and skin peelings. Sounded like a good plan to her, besides, her momma always said all the vitamins and nutrients were in the skin anyway. The meatloaf would have turned out perfectly, had she not still had it in the oven cooking. A little dry, but ketchup would fix it. Billy won’t know the difference.

  Just then she heard him knocking at the door. Quickly she wiped her hands on a towel and opened the door, letting him come inside from the long hallway that led to the staircase.

  “Hi, Daisy Mae,” he said, sure and confident.

  “Hey, Billy, come on in and make yourself right at home. Would you like some lemonade? I made it myself, fresh squeezed.”

  “I’ll take a glass, thank you kindly,” he said as he sat down on the sofa and reached for the remote. “You mind if I change this channel? It’s football Sunday, Daisy Mae.”

  “I know, Billy, you tell me all the time. Go on ahead and change the channel,” she said, removing her pot of boiling potatoes from the stove.

  She opened the refrigerator door, realizing she had forgotten the sour cream. “Dagnabbit,” she said, thinking of how important the sour cream was to the recipe for creamy homestyle mashed potatoes that she had gotten out of her Southern Flavor Cook Book, which she had purchased at the Barnes and Noble downtown. “I knew I forgot something. I swear sometimes I think I left my head on the bus,” she said.

  “What, Daisy, what happened?”

  “I forgot the sour cream,” she said, cursing herself.

  “Well, I can run down to the market and get you some, if you want.”

  “No, Billy, you been working at the factory and what not, just go on and rest. I’ll run down to the store, just go on and watch your football game,” she said, grabbing her purse and car keys.

  Sticks had just about had it with the South and wanted to go home. It had been two of the longest, hottest days he had ever experienced in his life. His travel companion offered no relief from the merciless heat that engulfed them. Sticks was strippe
d down to a dirty wife beater, dirty jeans, and dirty Adidas, and looked raggedy and withered, drained. The deer, the ditch, the tow, the Crazy 8 Motel they stayed in, Ray J, the diners with nothing on the menu but eggs over easy, biscuits, gravy, sausage, juice, water. That’s it, don’t ask for nothing else.

  “Do you have turkey bacon, Ethel?” asked Sticks, reading Ethel’s name tag and wondering how she got her hair to stand up in a beehive bun on top of her head.

  “No, it’s not on the menu, sir,” she said, like a robot woman with bright blue eye shadow on her eyelids and cherry-red lipstick painted on her mouth.

  “Just runny eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy?” he asked, apparently talking to himself, as she stood there waiting for his order. “I wanted pancakes, no pancakes?” he asked, realizing he was in hillbilly hell.

  “No, it’s not on the menu, sir.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing on the menu in this motherfucker,” he said, sliding the menu across the countertop at her and walking out.

  That was actually a couple of hours ago and he still had not eaten. Sticks and Ray J pulled into the Shalat Apartment Homes. The investigator had done a thorough search, leaving no stone unturned and delivering valuable and precise information to Simon Shuller.

  “Let me see here,” said Sticks, looking at the piece of paper Simon Shuller had handed him. “Okay, she’s in apartment 1805.”

  It was all about to go down. He parked his car around the back of the building. They got out of the car and Ray J checked his .45, tucking it into the back of his pants. “Let’s go get this done with,” he said to Sticks.

  “Let’s do it,” Sticks agreed, and led the way with Ray J close behind. They got up to the apartment and walked to the door marked 1805. Sticks knocked at the door, then stepped to the side.

  “Damn, you sure was quick about it,” said Billy as he opened the door. “What you do, fly to the…” he said as he swung the door back to the unfamiliar faces in front of him. No one said a word. Everyone exchanged quick glances, Ray J eyeing the inside of the apartment for others.

  “Is Daisy here?” asked Sticks.

  Unthinkingly, Billy answered him. “Well, she’s not here right now. But she’ll be back.”

  That was all Ray J had to hear. He had found his mark; it was time for some action. He pulled his .45 from behind his back and held it at point-blank range in Billy’s face.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” Billy asked, oblivious, being backed into the apartment, the door closing behind the three of them.

  “Who the fuck are you?” asked Sticks.

  “Nobody, I’m nobody,” said Billy, scared to death and about to pee on himself. He had never had a gun pointed at him. God, please don’t let them kill me.

  “What the fuck you doing here, nobody?” questioned Ray J, as Sticks looked around the apartment for signs that someone else was there.

  “I’m just visiting,” said Billy, trembling on the inside.

  “Where’s Daisy?” asked Sticks.

  Billy stood in silence for a minute as he thought about everything that was going on. As scared as he was, he’d just have to face the unknown, but there was no way he was telling these guys that Daisy was down the road at Wibler’s Market. One thing for sure, two things for certain, Daisy was in a world of trouble with the likes of these guys looking for her, and Billy knew they were here to bring her no good.

  “Nobody, where’s Daisy?” asked Ray J, poking his side with the gun.

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said, knees trembling.

  “What did you just say?” asked Sticks as he turned around, frowned, and busted Billy in the face with his right hand, dead on his jaw. Billy fell back but caught himself before falling. “I know you ain’t protecting this whore. I’m gonna ask you one more time, where the fuck is Daisy?”

  Billy knew they meant business. He prayed and prayed that she didn’t walk back through that door. He didn’t want to see her hurt. Before he could even think about responding, he found himself the target of a brutal beating. On the floor, in a fetal position, he was kicked and stomped down. His head was bleeding, blood was dripping from his mouth, his shoulder was completely dislocated from the stomping, and two of his ribs were broken.

  “I’m gonna ask you one more time. Where’s the girl?” said Ray J, bending down and putting the gun in Billy’s face once again.

  Billy had already seen his life flash in front of his eyes, all twenty-six years of his life. Ray J stuck the barrel of the gun in Billy’s mouth. “Nigga, I’ll blow your brains out, you fucking understand me? Answer me,” said Ray J, ready to kill him.

  Sticks really wanted to make it back home. He damn sure didn’t want to get jammed up down South.

  “Whoa, calm down, man,” he said, nodding to Ray J to be easy. Then he added, “What the fuck is you protecting her for, she’s a whore, everybody fucked her.”

  Billy lay still on the ground listening to Sticks as his eyes shot daggers of death at him.

  “What you like her? You getting mad ’cause I’m talking about your ho? Y’all in here playing whorehouse and shit, I see somebody in there cooking and shit. Man, don’t you know, you can’t turn no whore into a housewife. Shit just won’t work,” said Sticks. Tears fell from Billy’s eyes as he listened to Sticks slander and degrade Daisy. He was in so much pain, his side hurt more than his head and he could feel that one of his teeth on the upper top right side was loose. All he could do was lie still on the floor, holding his side tightly with both his arms, trying to protect the area in case they hit him again.

  “Man, hog-tie this motherfucker,” said Ray J, reaching into a bag he had carried from the car, and throwing a roll of rope to Sticks. “Tie him up tight too,” said Ray J, his gun in hand.

  Sticks thought nothing of it, caught the rope in midair, put his gun down, and rolled Billy onto his stomach, showing no mercy. Billy screamed in agonizing pain as Sticks began to tie him up, folding his wrists behind his back and using the rope to secure them. After his wrists he tied his feet together at the ankles. Then, before he could turn around and tie Billy’s ankles to his wrists he felt the barrel of cold steel pressed against the back right side of his head. He looked down at Ray J’s feet, standing right behind him, about to take his life.

  “Simon Shuller sends his best regards,” said Ray J, and he pulled the trigger, taking the shot, the perfect shot. Sticks raised his head just in time to see it coming, rather than never knowing what hit him. He knew it was coming, death, and the grim reaper was a tall, light-skinned, big, solid-built nigga named Rayford Johnson. Sticks, shocked at first, looked over his shoulder at Ray J, then his hand felt the back of his head, and he could feel his body falling to lie next to Billy’s, then darkness.

  “Aww, damn, mister, please don’t kill me, please. I won’t say a word,” said Billy as the keys to the door could be heard on the other side. It was Daisy coming back from the store. She opened the door and walked straight into the kitchen, never even looking into the living room.

  “Hey, Billy, I’m back,” she said, setting her things on the counter. She turned the corner and her eyes widened to the size of golf balls. “Billy, oh, my god,” she screamed, “are you okay?” She ran to him.

  “Watch out, Daisy,” said Billy as Ray J grabbed her. Daisy struggled as Ray J tightened his grip around her body with one arm, his free hand around her neck, choking her as he pressed his body against hers. “I remember you, from the Honey Dipper, right?” he questioned checking out her face real good. “Shit, I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on. Damn, you had a nice body, girl, and a pretty pussy. I always did want to fuck you. I missed that damn party though, the bachelor party. I heard though. I heard all about you. You take a lot of dick, baby. Damn, you fine.” Daisy whimpered as she looked over at Billy. He looked beat up real bad. His head was swollen and blood was still dripping from his mouth.

  He looked up at Ray J holding a gun to Daisy’s side with his arm still
wrapped around her, while his free hand began to fondle her body.

  “Please, stop, I don’t do that no more,” she said, fighting his hand off.

  “Bitch, is you crazy?” questioned Ray J, smacking Daisy in the face three times with his free hand. She couldn’t block him or duck him. And then he grabbed her hair, pulled her close to him, and looked her dead in the eyes. “You fucked everybody and you begging me please, looking at me like I’m disgusting you. You gonna beg me please, all right. Let’s go.” Daisy stood emotionless, the gun and the circumstances consuming her. Her past was right here in her face and as numb as she had been all those years, she was just as numb standing there in the living room of her present.

  “Come on, we got to go, you got court,” said Ray J.

  “Get off her,” hollered out Billy, tied and unable to do anything.

  “Damn, shut the fuck up, nigga,” Ray J said, before turning around and firing one bullet to silence him. It seemed as though she heard him, after he was shot, or maybe it was the single shot that broke her reverie.

  “Billy, noooo! Oh, God, please, no, Billy,” she screamed, trying to break free from Ray J as Billy lay on the floor in a pool of blood.

  “Bitch, say one word and I’ll kill you, too. Shut up!” he commanded, grabbing her hair as he dragged her across the floor.

  He made her reach down into Sticks’s pockets and get the keys to the car outside. “Hurry up about it, and come on,” he ordered. That was all he needed, his business here was complete, and upon returning home, he’d collect a king-sized ransom for a hard day’s work.

  Just as he opened the door and stepped out of the apartment, he saw Agent Lang and Agent Chambers turning the corner and heading toward them.

  “Daisy Mae Fothergill, FBI!” Agent Lang yelled out. She took one look at Daisy and recognized her from the video surveillance from the bank. The suspect was only four hundred feet away. Just as she began to reach for her piece, Ray J like lightning began firing at them.