Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

by J. D. Mason

  “Jordan,” the man on the other end of the phone said before Jordan could finish saying hello. It was Alan Spectrum, the prosecuting attorney at Desi Green’s trial. “Fleming’s been arrested.”

  Jordan was caught off guard by the statement. “Russ Fleming?”

  “One and the same.”

  “For what?”

  “Believe it or not, murder.”

  He had just seen Fleming recently and the man was sitting on pins and needles, concerned about his buddy’s suicide.

  Jordan’s mind split into half a dozen different pieces, as he tried to make sense out of all of this.

  “Who do they think he killed?”

  “Some kid.” Spectrum sighed. “Turns out the judge has a thing for teenage boys.”

  Jordan was speechless, as it all started to come together in his mind.

  “Something’s going on,” Alan continued. “I thought it was all just coincidence, but— First Mary Travis dies. She was sick, and sick people die. So, I didn’t think much about it.”

  “And then Billings,” Jordan muttered.

  “It still could’ve just been a coincidence in my mind. The fact that the crap he was involved in somehow became public knowledge—I shrugged it off too. But with this, with Fleming being pulled into the mix too, Jordan, there aren’t that many coincidences in the world.”

  He was right. Tin soldiers were dropping like flies, and it all pointed to one menacing conclusion.

  “The only common denominator between these people is Desi,” Alan concluded. “Somehow, someway, she’s involved, Jordan. I’d bet my paycheck on it.”

  Jordan hung up and went downstairs. All of a sudden, he’d lost his appetite. No matter how many different angles you tried looking at it, every line pointed back to Desi. Maybe she’d hired some fancy investigator or computer whiz to hack into private networks. Desi had gone out and bought a brain with some of that money of hers. And one by one, she was coming after everybody she thought had ever done her wrong. Sounded like the lyrics to a damn country and western song. She’d made one mistake, though. Desi had saved Jordan for last.

  Some Discarded Valentine

  What was she doing? Desi finished putting her lipstick on, and stared back at herself in the mirror. In the last week, Desi had spent nearly every one of those days sexing Solomon, talking to him over the phone, or wishing she were sexing him, or talking to him over the phone. Russ Fleming had been arrested for the suspected murder of a young boy. Another of Lonnie’s “contacts” had somehow discovered the undiscoverable.

  “I need to know who you know, Lonnie, and how do they manage to find out shit like this when nobody else can?”

  Lonnie laughed. “It’s all about knowing what you’re looking for, Des, or in this case, at. All I did was focus my efforts onto your judge and your sheriff. Look long and hard enough at anybody, and you can find what they don’t want you to.”

  “You ever look long and hard at me?” Desi asked, hesitantly.

  “No, sweetie. You’re an open book. I never had to.”

  Desi could hear Lonnie take a bite out of an apple, “I gotta go. We need to do lunch. It’s been a while.”

  She hung up before Desi could say good-bye.

  Solomon hadn’t asked her about the judge, but the issue hung heavy between the two of them, like he knew she’d played some part in what was happening to Judge Fleming.

  Desi was playing with fire. She hadn’t killed Tom Billings, or Mary Travis, but she was still guilty of arming them both with the tools to kill themselves, and she’d stood by and done nothing to stop them. Could she go to prison for that? Guilty by omission? Did that apply to her?

  Every fiber in her being warned her against spending too much time with Solomon, but those same fibers had been hella lonely for a long time. She hadn’t known how much she’d needed to be with someone until he came along. But she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. He hadn’t come out and said it, but she knew that he wasn’t 100 percent convinced that he should be spending all that time with her either. He didn’t fully trust her. She could sense it. And she couldn’t blame him.

  * * *

  Desi was leaving soon for North Carolina to work with that writer, Sue Parker. A night out on the town had been his idea. Desi had casually mentioned to him that she’d never been on a real date before, so he felt obliged to take her out.

  He couldn’t help but smile when she answered the door. Desi had let her hair down, and cascading curls fell to her shoulders. The dress was black, fitted, and teased him with delicious-looking cleavage. She bottomed out with red stiletto slingbacks.

  “Wow!” he said, examining her from head to foot. “You look beautiful, baby.”

  Her smile made his day. “Thanks, Solomon.”

  He’d already seen her naked, but seeing her dressed like this made her brand new to him all over again. He admired the view from behind as they made their way to his car. Once settled in, Desi asked him to reveal the secret plans he’d made for the evening.

  “So, where are we going?” she asked, reservedly.

  “Well, I thought we’d start off with bowling.” He glanced at her, and was slain with a disapproving look.

  “Do I look like I’m dressed for bowling?”

  “No, you do not,” he said appreciatively, staring at her like she was his next meal.

  “So, where are we really going?”

  “Dinner and dancing,” he announced.

  “Dinner I can do, but,” she paused, “I can’t dance.”

  He started the car. “Well, then we’d better get started so I can teach you how to boogaloo!”

  Desi just looked at him.

  * * *

  She was a horrible dancer, but she looked damn good doing it. Solomon danced circles around Desi, who seemed to have mastered the art of the two-step, but to add even one more step would’ve been a problem. She laughed as he spun around her. Blushed when he took hold of her hands and pulled her close. She stumbled when he tried to spin her, but whenever he pulled her near, and held her, Desi melted.

  It was one of those old-fashioned, “keep your girl close” kind of dates. He held her hand when they weren’t dancing, and couldn’t take his eyes off of her when they were. She loved every minute of it. Desi let her guard down, she pulled back the layers of the stigma that had been hers for so long, and let herself swim in the idea that she was normal. No one in the room pointed a finger and said, “Look, that’s her. That’s Desi Green!” And she didn’t stand up on top of a table and announce it either.

  He led her back to their table and flagged down the waitress to bring them two more drinks.

  “Having fun?” he asked, leaning over to talk in her ear above the music.

  Desi nodded. “I’m having a blast.”

  It showed. She was the most beautiful woman in the room as far as he was concerned, and he knew that it had more to do with the radiance coming from the inside than anything she could’ve put on.

  Solomon leaned in, put his hand under her chin, and turned her face to his. He kissed her, and smiled.

  Russ Fleming had been taken into custody for the murder of a fifteen-year-old boy. Solomon had spent the better part of the day trying not to connect Desi to it, but he’d failed. First Mary. He didn’t have any evidence, nor did he want any that his aunt had taken a bribe to make sure Desi Green was convicted. Then there was Tom Billings, the good-ol’-boy sheriff of Blink, who’d arrested Desi, and who, by his testimony, had seen her holding the gun when he and his men entered the residence the night Julian was killed. And now Russ Fleming, the judge who had sentenced her, was being held on capital murder charges. There was just something not all the way right with this picture. One by one, those who had trespassed against Desi were falling. But what right did she have to destroy them, when she was the one who shot and killed a man?

  Desi smiled and winked a pretty brown eye at him as she took a sip of her drink. “If you still want to go bowling, I’m game.
” She shrugged.

  Against his better judgment, he had gone into full and complete sucker mode for this woman. It clouded his thinking, made him look past the obvious or make excuses for it, and ignore the doubt gouging his gut.

  “And if you give me a kiss right now, I might even let you win.” Desi closed her eyes and puckered her lips.

  Solomon couldn’t resist.

  Obeah Woman

  “I thought I told you to hold off, Lonnie!” Desi said angrily over the phone. She was sitting at the airport waiting for her flight to board when she saw a small clipping in the Dallas Morning News about Russ Fleming’s arrest.

  “I decided that it wasn’t in your best interest to wait,” Lonnie said, coolly.

  “If you gave a damn about my best interest, you would’ve listened to me. We’re moving too fast. I wanted you to hold off with Fleming until after Sue and I finished with the book,” Desi argued. “Leave some space between him and Billings. How long do you think it’s going to take the media or the police to see the pattern here? How long do you think it’s going to take for all of this shit to point back at me?”

  Lonnie had betrayed her. She’d blatantly disregarded Desi’s concerns and went ahead and did what she wanted to do.

  “And what if they do, Desi?” Lonnie asked, calmly.

  “Mary Travis fell and hit her head.”

  “I know. I was there. Remember?”

  “Did you push her? Trip her? Pick up that table and bash her over the head with it?”

  “You know I didn’t.”

  “Did you put that gun in Tom Billings’s mouth and pull the trigger?”

  “Alright,” Desi said, agitated.

  “Did you hang out with that old perv and fondle little boys or bash their…”

  “Alright!” Desi shouted. “I hear you. What am I going to do if the police start investigating me? And you know they will.”

  “What did you think was going to happen when that book was published? Did you not think that you were going to have to face the music at all, Desi?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “What difference does it make? And what reason would the police have for investigating you for any of this? These people fucked up. They cast the first stone when they were guilty as hell in their own right. This is just good, old-fashioned karma hard at work.”

  Lonnie’s argument was on the money, but Desi still couldn’t help feeling queasy about Fleming’s garbage being made public on the heels of Billings’s.

  “You think you’re being so brave by writing a book,” Lonnie continued. “You think you’re taking a stand, but I think you’re all smoke and mirrors, Des. You talk a good talk, but when it comes to walking the walk, you’re still that scared kid these people bullied into submission.”

  “Shut up, Lonnie.” Desi snapped. “You keep saying that you’re the one putting your ass on the line, but it’s my ass they’re going to be looking at to connect all of this to.”

  “What difference does it make if the world finds out about Fleming now or a year from now? He did what he did, and he has to pay for it.”

  “They’re going to blame me—”

  “Telling your writer the truth about these people is just a step, Des. A small one. Letting that publisher print the truth in a book is another step. But it’s passive-aggressive behavior at best. These people aren’t afraid of your book, Desi. It’s your word against theirs. But none of them can argue the evidence, the facts. So, when your book is published, it’s your word against the words of slave traders, child killers, and bribe takers. I promise that your word will stand on its own when it’s all said and done because of what I’ve done for you.”

  “I’m glad you’re my friend and not my enemy, Lonnie.”

  “You should be.”

  * * *

  Desi could be her own worst enemy sometimes, Lonnie concluded after hanging up the phone. She was big on intentions, small on nerve. She liked to think she’d finally grown into that big girl who wasn’t afraid of the boogeyman anymore, but she wasn’t fooling Lonnie. Lonnie had taken the ball and ran with it. All Desi had to do was sit back, and let her. Now she was panicking, afraid that the fallout from Lonnie’s discoveries about Billings and Fleming would draw too much attention to her, but attention was something she should’ve been used to by now. And whether that attention came today, or a year and a half from now when her book hit the shelves, well, she’d just have to deal with it. But at least, the truth about those bastards would be out, and maybe Desi could finally find her vindication somewhere in the debris.

  “Why do I care so much?” Lonnie muttered, raking her hand across her short hair.

  Why did she care? Why was she working so hard to see that men like Billings and Fleming were finally held accountable for their crimes? Why had she sacrificed her time and her energy, digging through the trash to find dirt on these people? Because Desi couldn’t—or wouldn’t. And because it needed to be done, and Lonnie knew how to do it. She had spent years exposing secrets with her camera lens and reporting, and she had come to expect that everyone, especially those in power, had something to hide. Desi needed a champion, and Lonnie had volunteered for the job the day she first decided to write to Desi in prison.

  “You want me to use that same song that I used last time?”

  Cole was young, gifted, beautiful, and black. He was eager to please Lonnie. She’d met him while taking photos for another journalist writing a piece on inner-city underground hackers. They were the lost boys (and girls) of the cyber world, who hadn’t earned fancy college degrees, or in most cases, high school diplomas. They were the ones who flew underneath the radar, and had mastered the art of computing, taking it to a whole other level and selling their services like crack dealers.

  Cole Masters was a genius who’d even been hired by the occasional corporation to hack into corporate files of competitors. He’d been responsible for writing and planting viruses that took down social Web sites, and had even spread a complicated Trojan Horse that shut down an entire cell phone company, costing the business millions, and making the other company, the one hired to fix the problems, a fortune.

  He refused to have his picture taken by Lonnie, because he was the only one still in operation. Cole Masters wasn’t even his real name. The boy was brilliant, and he had a crush on Lonnie.

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I like that song. I think it really drives the point home. Did you scan the pictures?”

  “Yep,” he said, typing feverishly on his computer.

  Cole had an entire room dedicated for his work, filled with monitors, half a dozen computers, routers, and only God knew what else.

  “What’s the message?”

  Lonnie thought for a moment, before finally responding. This had to be good, because Jordan wasn’t uncomfortable enough. “Ashes. Ashes. They all fall down.”

  She’d come too far in this to stop now. Compulsion drove her to see this thing through to the end with Jordan. For Desi, she kept telling herself. Until recently, she’d believed that that was the reason for everything she was doing but lately Lonnie had had the nerve to be honest with herself, and to admit some cold hard facts. She loved the chaos. She relished the drama, and as far as Jordan was concerned, she welcomed the challenge.

  For Lonnie, it had always been about proving that she could, and with a man like him, a powerful confident man, Lonnie had to prove even more. She had to prove that she wasn’t the kind of woman to fall under his spell, like so many before her had. Jordan’s reputation was legendary. Before and after his wife, he had been known for how well he gave chase, only to discard women like debris later. Jordan was ruthless. Lonnie was just like him in that respect. And there was no way she could let a little thing like love get in the way of winning.

  I See You Crystal Clear

  News of Fleming’s arrest had gone viral over the Internet, a small-town judge arrested for murder in the same town where a retired sheriff had recently committed suicide afte
r being exposed as a member of a human-trafficking ring. Authorities believed that the two men had more in common than just being associates. They were trying to link the trafficking of young boys to an exclusive underground network of pedophiles. The source of both stories was linked to a reporter named D. Rohm.

  First Mary and Billings, and now Fleming? Obviously, Desi’s goal was to topple an empire. Mary had taken a bribe for making sure that Desi was found guilty by that jury. Solomon had managed to get his hands on the transcript of that trial, and read Billings’s testimony when he was called to the stand.

  “I was the first officer on the scene,” he explained.

  “And what did you see when you arrived?” the prosector asked him.

  “I saw Ida Green crouched down on her knees in the front yard, crying uncontrollably. I told my deputy to tend to her.”

  “You went inside the house?”

  “Yes sir. The screen door was wide open, and I pulled my weapon and entered the premises. That’s when I saw a man lying on the floor, his head in a woman’s lap, and another young woman sitting on the couch holding a weapon in her hands.”

  Why would Ida Green leave her daughter alone in that house with a dead man and obviously the woman with Julian was Olivia. Solomon scratched his head. Even if she was upset, it didn’t make sense to Solomon that Ida would run out of the house when Julian was shot, unless she felt threatened or was running to find help.

  He continued reading, looking for testimony from anyone as to why Julian was shot. There was none. He looked for some explanation of why his wife was there.

  Things got really interesting when he came across Ida’s testimony.

  “What was your relationship to Julian Gatewood?” the defense lawyer asked.

  “He was my—my man.”

  “And how long had the two of you been in a relationship?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  How could she not remember? Solomon expected the attorney to ask the same question, but he didn’t. He missed an opportunity and went on to the next question.

  “Did Desi and Julian get along?”