No Loyalty

by De'nesha Diamond

  Startled, Nichelle stopped pacing. “Yes.”

  “You got a visitor.”

  “I do? Who?”

  “What the fuck do I look like, your personal secretary?” The woman’s mud brown eyes leveled at Nichelle. It was the same look most guards had around there, and Nichelle knew better than to rock the boat.

  Silently, the guard walked Nichelle from public holding to a private room, reserved for prisoner and attorney meetings. The only problem was she didn’t have an attorney, and a new public defender hadn’t been assigned to her. When she entered the room, however, there was only a mild shock at seeing Lieutenant Armstrong there, waiting.

  Nichelle glared while she waited for the guard to handcuff her to the metal table. She didn’t want to sit but relented and cut to the chase. “What the hell do you want?”

  “A confession,” he answered honestly.

  “Well, you came to the wrong place.”

  “Figured as much,” he acquiesced.

  “Great.” She stood. “Does that mean we’re done here?”

  Armstrong sighed and leaned his large frame back into his chair. “How about you help me help you?”

  “You mean like the last time you helped?”

  “Last time you confessed—and this time I believe there is more than what meets the eye in this case. It doesn’t mean I believe you’re innocent. You did, after all, steal your daughter’s life. That in and of itself is a Maury Povich shit show.”

  “Javid’s and Klaudya’s marriage was over. She just didn’t know it. Javid . . . needed a more mature woman at his side.”

  Armstrong stared. “What do you expect me to think when you say things like that?”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “But the gun was in your hand.”

  Nichelle stewed in her seat. “It wasn’t me.”

  “We’re not going to get anywhere if I have to play twenty questions,” he said. “And just because I’m willing to lend you an ear doesn’t mean my bosses are, too. So, if there’s anything you can think of that could prove your innocence, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “I told you before. I don’t know what happened. Most of that night is a complete blur.”

  Armstrong’s brows sprung up. “We’re going to play the amnesia game?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “It’s Klaudya. She’s behind this. I know it. She couldn’t get rid of me, so she got rid of Javid.”

  Armstrong let the accusation hang in the air.

  “You don’t believe me.” Nichelle tossed up her hands. “Great. They may as well give me the needle.”

  “Chill out. You know California doesn’t have the death penalty. So, please. A little less drama goes a long way.”

  Nichelle rolled her eyes.

  “Now what about proof?” he asked. “You got any?”

  She shook her head. “If I did, I wouldn’t be in here now, would I?”

  “Fine. Do you know how I can get some?”

  “I wish. There’s gotta be some way to retrace Klaudya’s steps after her release from jail.”

  “You mean after you put her in there?”

  Nichelle glared back.

  Armstrong grinned. “This is only going to work if you’re one hundred percent honest with me.”

  Instead of answering the question, Nichelle pivoted. “All I know is she was released early, and no one knew about it. Someone picked her up from jail. It had to be this old friend of hers that used to work at the Kitty Kat with her. I heard she was the only one who’d visited her in jail.”

  “Does this friend have a name?”

  “I don’t know her government name, but people call her Sassy.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Dressed head-to-toe in widow’s black, Klaudya grew exhausted from everyone’s condolences and fake hugs. Outside of her clique of girlfriends, Tabitha, Bethany, Emma, and Brandi, people were there fishing for more gossip to feed into the Calabasas grapevine. For more than a year, she and her mother, Nichelle, sat on the tip of everyone’s tongues. But Klaudya was confident that this time her mother was out of her life for good.

  Klaudya drifted from the house full of mourners toward the estate’s back French doors and watched the twins play with the other children. At least Mya was. Mykell sat alone on a patio chair with his bottom lip nearly hitting his chin.

  “It’s going to be all right. Hang on,” Klaudya whispered against the glass paneling.

  A familiar voice spoke from behind her. “It’s good to see that you’re holding it together.”

  Klaudya stiffened but didn’t turn around.

  Emilio Vargas moved to her side and gazed out of the back door with her. “You have my deepest and sincerest sympathies.”

  Klaudya bit her lower lip and refrained from telling him what he could do with his sympathies.

  “I wouldn’t worry about the boy,” Vargas added. “I lost my father about his age. I, too, was devastated. But I was resilient; most children are. You have to lead by example.”

  Klaudya turned toward him. “I appreciate the parental advice.”

  The corner of his lips twitched. “You know. I’ve always . . . admired you. Not only are you stunningly beautiful, but you also got spunk, and you’re a survivor.”

  “Thanks. Now if you would excuse me, I need to attend to my other guests.” She took one step, but he smoothly cut off her path. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is.” He glanced around. “Perhaps there is somewhere we can talk—alone?”

  Klaudya frowned. “Now?”

  “I promise. It will only take a few minutes.”

  “Sure. Why not?” She led him through the crowd of mourners and into her home office. It was awkward since it was across the hall from her husband’s, and where his body had been discovered.

  Vargas made himself at home by crossing to the minibar. “Drink?”

  She frowned. “Pass. I gave up the stuff.”

  “Ah. Smart.” He commenced making his own while asking, “I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  He lifted his glass. “Salud!”

  Klaudya eyed him as he tossed back a shot of whiskey.

  “I’ll cut straight to the point.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “As you know, your husband and I were in business together. I trusted him and his partner Ari with a shitload of my money. Do you know about that?”

  “Sorry, but I don’t know much about the financial industry. Any time Javid talked about the business, my eyes glazed over. If you’re looking for another advisor, I wouldn’t even know who to recommend.”

  “Humph. Referral. That’s cute. No. You don’t understand. I trusted your husband. And there have been some discrepancies.”

  She stared, incredulous. “You trusted him? Welcome to the club. I trusted him, too, before he fucked my mother, served me with divorce papers, and played house with her for a year while I sat in jail.”

  “That is unfortunate.”

  “You think? Look. I have no idea about any . . . discrepancies. I wasn’t here. Whatever stupid shit my husband was involved in, I have no clue. His secrets died with him.”

  Vargas stared. “So you know nothing about his . . . business?”

  She struggled to follow him. “Should I? I never worked for his firm. Why don’t you go and talk to Ari? I know they liquidated the company while I was away, but if there’s anyone else who knows the ins and outs of the business it would be him.”

  Vargas’s smile returned. “I would love to talk to Arlington if I could find him. Any idea where he’s slithered off to?”

  “Sorry. He didn’t send me a postcard.”

  Vargas’s smile expanded. “It appears this time I’m barking up the wrong tree. Apparently, Javid kept plenty of secrets from you.”

  The statement hung in the air between them.

  What the hell did he expect her to say? “I nee
d to get back to my other guests. Whatever it was Javid did, I’m sorry. All I want to do now is sell this place, take my children, and go somewhere where we can start all over—preferably before their grandmother goes on trial for killing their father.”

  Vargas appeared as if he genuinely sympathized this time. “Guess I’ll have to chalk it up as a lesson learned. Loyalty is a dying attribute.”

  “I’ve learned to be loyal only to myself.”

  Vargas caught her bitter tone. “Then you’ve learned the right lesson. Any idea where you’ll go?”

  “Not yet. Maybe I’ll spin a globe and pick out a place blindfolded.”

  “You know Mexico has a lot to offer. Great place to start over and raise the kids.”

  “You’re only saying that because your son is the president.”

  “He could always use another vote. He did cut it close the last time.”

  She laughed.

  He set his drink on the bar. “I should go.” He waltzed over to her. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You, too.” He kissed her forehead and left her office with a wink.

  Klaudya didn’t relax again until he and his bodyguards left her home.

  CHAPTER 4

  Lieutenant Armstrong rolled through the alley of a nondescript strip mall in seedy East Los Angeles. Drugs and prostitution plagued the streets. The men cruising for a good time didn’t give a fuck about age, health status, or whether the workers were there by choice or trafficked. Erik had seen it all when he was with vice. Johns who solicited sex with their kids strapped in child seats in the back. It wasn’t unusual for undercover cops to wait until after services rendered before making an arrest.

  The shit was mild compared to what he’d seen in his years on the force.

  Lieutenants Armstrong and Schneider stopped next to a cluster of long-legged women in too-tight clothing and colorful wigs and rolled down the window.

  One woman leaned into the car. “Whatcha doing here, sugar? You looking for a date?”

  “Nah,” the woman in a blue wig said, leaning in next to her. “How are you doing, Officer Friendly?”

  Erik smiled. “Are we that obvious?”

  “Like a bright neon sign.” Blue flashed a gummy smile.

  They shared a laugh before Erik got to the point. “I’m looking for Sassy. Has she been around?”

  The women’s laughter petered out.

  “Never heard of her,” Blue lied.

  Erik cocked his head. “Do we need to take a trip downtown to jog your memory? It could take a long time.”

  “Now, why do you want to fuck up my numbers?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Or you can tell me where Sassy is.”

  After the women shared a consulting look, Blue spit out an address.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard. Was it?” Armstrong asked.

  The women rolled their eyes and stepped back from the car.

  Thirty minutes later, Lieutenant Armstrong marched up the steel steps of Roland’s Billiard Hall to an upstairs apartment. He hammered on the door and waited.

  And waited.

  “C’mon, Sassy. I know you’re in there,” he shouted through the door. “I only want to ask you a few questions.”

  “I don’t know nothing about nothing,” Sassy’s slurred words filtered back.

  The lieutenant’s patience wore thin. “C’mon, I know you know something about your friend Klaudya Ramsey.”

  Another long pause ensued before the locks were disengaged. Seconds later, the door cracked open, and one crystal blue eyeball peered out. “Klaudya?”

  Armstrong nodded.

  Sassy’s eye narrowed. “What has she done now?”

  “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. When was the last time you saw Klaudya?”

  The eye rolled skyward while a half laugh ignited a bad cough.

  “Are you all right?” Erik asked, concerned. He gazed over Sassy’s head. “Are you alone?”

  “I’m fine—and that’s none of your damn business.” Sassy’s clap-back lost its sting when another cough rattled around in her chest.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Sassy attempted to answer but had to turn away and doubled over as if to dislodge both lungs through her throat.

  Armstrong took advantage of the situation and pushed open the door. After he traipsed through the pigsty of an apartment, he found a clean glass and filled it with water. If Sassy was upset about the violation of privacy, she pushed that shit to the side and accepted the water. While she gulped, Armstrong took another look around.

  “Nice place.”

  Sassy cut Armstrong a sharp look over the rim of her glass.

  “Klaudya Ramsey?” Armstrong reminded her.

  “Haven’t seen her.”

  “But you picked her up when she was released from prison, right?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  Armstrong smiled. “I’m good at my job.”

  Sassy re-evaluated him. “Yeah, so what?”

  “So tell me about it.”

  Sassy popped a squat on the corner of a messy queen-size bed. “There’s nothing to tell. I picked her up. End of story.”

  Erik plastered on a fake smile. “You can do better than that. How was her mood? Where did you take her?”

  “Why? What did she do?” she asked again.

  Armstrong’s smile tightened. “How about I ask the questions?”

  Sassy shrugged and swallowed the rest of her water.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  Armstrong walked past Sassy and headed toward a nightstand.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  Armstrong lifted Sassy’s forgotten glass pipe and a tenfold of crack rocks.

  “Sheeit!”

  Armstrong smiled. “Tell me about the ride.”

  “It was like most days—shitty. Only on that day it was raining cats and dogs two weeks ago . . .

  A steady downpour of thin, needle-shaped rain made it almost impossible for Klaudya to see as she walked out of the doors of the Twin Towers Correctional Facility. The painful sheet of rain took its pound of flesh while plastering her clothes to her body. But what did it matter? She had lost everything.

  Her man.

  Her children.

  Her life.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. There was no such thing as happily-ever-after for people like her from the place she was from: hell.

  Klaudya closed her eyes and kept moving because it was against the law to loiter outside the prison. The last thing she wanted was to be thrown back into a cell. She hadn’t made it to the curb before her sockless feet squished around in sneakers that felt like soggy bricks. When she stepped into Bauchet Street to cross toward the county sheriff’s building, a car horn blasted.

  Shielding her eyes, Klaudya recognized the approaching silver Camry. “Sassy?”

  The car stopped, but not before a mini-tidal wave from its tires drenched half her body.

  Sassy powered down the side window. “Sorry I’m late, girl. You know how bad L.A. traffic is, even without all this bullshit rain.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Klaudya mumbled, going for the car door.

  Locked.

  “Oops. Sorry.” Sassy hit the powered locks while Klaudya counted to ten.

  On the second attempt, the door opened.

  “Wait,” Sassy shouted while scrambling to move shit out of the seat before snatching a blanket from the back like she was performing a flamboyant magic trick. “There. Now, you can sit.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, no sense in you ruining my leather seats,” Sassy volleyed the sarcasm back to her.

  Klaudya sat on the musky blanket and closed the door. However, the rain pelted her inside until Sassy undid the child locks and powered up the window.

  “There we go. Let’s get you warmed up.” Sassy beamed, fiddled with th
e car’s heat, and pulled away from the curb.

  Another car horn blared.

  “Fuck off!” Sassy shouted and gave the middle finger before she saw it was a cop. “Oops.”

  Klaudya rolled her eyes.

  Like always, Sassy’s white-girl magic cast its spell, and the cop rode off without issuing a warning.

  At the first traffic light, the heat blowing through the vents was like the Arctic winds, and the silence between them had grown as vast as its ocean.

  “Girl, I know you’re glad to be out.” Sassy shook her head. “But I gotcha.”

  Klaudya held her tongue while her back molars sawed off a level of enamel; however, she had no choice but to eat the double-decker crow pie Sassy served, unless she wanted to dive out of the car and hope Noah was in the neighborhood with a second ark.

  Sassy went on, “Let’s face it. The way you’d rolled out of the Kitty Kat, acting all brand-new because you landed your ass a white G with jungle fever was fucked up. Betcha thought your ass was made for life, huh?”

  In her head, Klaudya counted to ten.

  Sassy’s smile spread wider as she rubbed more salt into the wound. “Girl, I told you men were all the same. Color doesn’t mean a damn thing. All dogs fuck from behind.”

  Klaudya grunted. Men weren’t the only disloyal muthafuckas. Bitches were slicker with their shit. Her gaze sliced toward Sassy, but she kept her lips buttoned.

  “Well,” Sassy continued, “at least now you see who truly got your back.” She pulled her eyes from the road to meet Klaudya’s dead eyes. “I’m just saying,” Sassy amended. “What goes up has to come back down. Right?”

  Silence.

  “And you crashed flat on your face.”

  “Sass . . .”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Klaudya’s venom shut off the rest of the asinine, one-sided conversation for three miles. “Look. You can drop me off at the next block,” Klaudya said as they entered downtown. The streets were close to flooding.

  Sassy’s thin lips curled. “Are you sure? I don’t mind—”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Pull over to the curb.”

  “But—”

  “Pull. The. Fuck. Over.”

  “All right. All right. No need to lose your shit.” Sassy rolled to a stop as instructed.

  Klaudya jerked on the door handle and swore a blue streak when the locked door refused to let her out.