She turned it back over and studied the black male. The description that Poo-Man had given her was dead on the money. Placing the picture back in its spot, she removed a second one. This one was a group of men posing in front of the gold Chevy and a black roofless BMW 745. She recognized two of Mance’s barbers, Jay and Stewart. She turned it over and it read: Dem Boyz, San, Stewart, Ghetti, Jay, Mark, Bike Week 2006 Myrtle Beach.
Flipping it back over, she looked at the third guy from the left—Ghetti. Every other picture she removed she got the same answers. What struck her as odd—not one picture said anything that indicated Jerrod.
“I’m tripping,” she said aloud. She felt ashamed at her actions. She could not understand the connection of Ghetti to Jerrod. And why was the room bare of anything about the military? She had some serious thinking to do. Making sure the pictures were in order, she moved toward the dresser. Its top was cluttered with assorted items. A shiny watch with a yellow gator band, a box of condoms, four issues of Hush Magazine and a few gold rings. On second glance, she saw a plastic card behind the box of condoms. Without thought, she carefully picked it up. It was a banking card with a picture of the cardholder. The small head and shoulder picture was clear enough for her to see that he was the same guy in the pictures—Ghetti. The card had his real name listed as Keith E. Martin. Putting the card back, she noticed her hand was lightly trembling. She made her exit, turning the light off and locking the door behind her. She went into the kitchen, threw the hanger away then fixed a cup of hot herbal tea then sat at the kitchen table in deep thought. Her mind was overflowing with different theories from what she had just discovered. As much as she tried to avoid the thought, she knew that there was a chance that Mance had lied to her. But why? Somehow, her future husband was connected to Ghetti and she was starting to believe that Jarrod was just a lie. How deep did the lie run? Did Mance know about the murders? Worse, what if he had a part in the crime? She looked around the kitchen. It was slowly becoming her home. Volanda had some thick decisions to make and she knew she could not play both sides. She was either with the law or against it. The life growing inside her played a major role in what she was going to do. She refused to be a single mother. She looked at the time as she poured her second cup of herbal tea, 6:53 p.m.
She was expecting Mance to come home around nine o’clock. This would give her more time to think. Sharing the knowledge of Ghetti’s identity with Amanda was out of the question. She could not risk the chance of bringing any heat toward Mance. Thinking of Amanda, she got up and removed the cordless phone from its charger then made the call. Amanda answered on the third ring.
“Hello?” Amanda’s voice sounded lethargic.
“Amanda, are you okay? You sound terrible.”
“You should see what I look like.”
“No, seriously are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. I think I just came down with a twenty-four hour bug or something.”
“The flu?”
“No, I got my shots, remember?” Amanda was far from being sick. What she was afflicted from was a massive hangover and her body was still recovering from her explosive sex filled night with Vic.
“Do you need tomorrow off?” Volanda was concerned for her friend.
“No. I’ll be fine. Actually I’m feeling better than I did this morning.”
“Where’s Matt?”
“Down in the entertainment room.” Amanda coughed. “Excuse me. Any breaks in the Glenbrook case?”
“None,” Volanda replied. “Still nothing on Regail, and I went to visit Maria today. Her status is still critical.”
“I’ll go to see her tomorrow,” Amanda said in a low tone.
“Amanda, you really don’t sound good. Promise me you will get some rest. I was mainly calling to check on you, so I’ll fill you in on what you missed when I see you tomorrow. Now get some rest.”
“Okay boss,” Amanda kidded.
Volanda hung up, leaning against the dishwasher with her arms folded. She needed the truth from Mance and she had a scheme forming in her mind. If it did not work, then her life was about to be filled with turmoil. Mance was in his office going over last month’s money sheets when Shasta walked into his office without knocking.
“Here.” She handed him her cell phone. “You have a call.” He figured it was her best friend Rachel that had a crush on him, one that he was not returning. “Rachel,” he began. “I told you I’m engaged so—”
“Fool!” Ghetti laughed. “This ain’t no damn, Rachel.”
“Ghetti! What’s good fam’?”
“Mannn, shit still the same. But yo, did I just hear you say you’re engaged? Or is that a front fo’ Rachel?”
“I’ll build on that later. What’s up with you and this headache?”
“You really wanna know?”
“Ain’t got time for games, Ghetti. Oh, I got your text back on Monday.”
“Good, I was hopin’ it went through. I used a computer at this hotel. Well, the deal wit’ my headache is this . . .”
Mance remained silent as Ghetti told him how he was stuck up by the two Arabs, then how he ended up with the two bodies.
“Ghetti! Why the fuck you ain’t tell me this shit the night it went down? What? I can’t be trusted?” Mance was visibly upset.
Ghetti knew his cousin was heated due to his tone and the use of profanity.
“Say something!” Mance exploded. “You think this shit cool? You think you a gangster now? You got two fucking bodies! That’s either life in prison or the death penalty and you did it over some bullshit. I warned you to fall back, but I guess you doing your own thang, huh? Did anybody see you?”
“I wore a mask and gloves.” Ghetti’s tone was low and full of defeat.
“Where Poo-Man, the dude you said set you up?”
“Ain’t no tellin’.”
Mance closed his eyes to calm down. “Where are you at now?”
“Raleigh. At the Hilton.” Ghetti’s mood was sour. Mance’s words had him facing the seriousness of his problems. He had always looked up to Mance and his trust in him ran deep.
“Look man, I’m pissed off at you because I love you. All we can do now is worry about today and tomorrow. I spoke with Stewart today so I know he has your car.”
“Ain’t turnin’ myself in.”
“Chill cousin. That ain’t even an option, so fall back and let me figure out something. Yo, who knows you’re at the Hilton?”
“Just Verenity and this white girl I smashed off, but I gave her a fake name.”
“Damn, I can’t believe this,” Mance muttered. “Ghetti, do you know how much has changed since you’ve been gone? Man, I got a baby on the way and I’m engaged. And now you drop this bomb in my lap.”
“I’m sorry, yo.”
“Listen, ummmm, stay put and do not call nobody else. I got something to check out when I get home.” Mance figured it was a good idea not to mention anything about Volanda.
“You gonna call me back?”
“Yeah. And don’t call the house. I’ll tell you why later.” Mance stood up. “I won’t turn my back on you, Ghetti. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” Ghetti said, depressed.
“Dis’ yo number?”
“Yeah, it’s a throw away.”
“Keep it on until I call you back, and what’s your room number?”
“Ummm, twenty-five.”
“Stay there, chill, and let me straighten a few things out.”
“All right.”
“Hold it down.”
“Alright, bye.”
Mance ended the call, and then reached for his cream Ed Hardy jacket. On his way out, he gave Shasta her phone back then pulled Stewart to the side to put a bug in his ear. Rolling out in his Lexus, he headed straight home with his mind flipping different angles to coax some info out of Volanda. She was his woman, the woman he was in love with, and the mother of his first-born. She could not be the enemy. Halfway home he called her to see if
she needed anything from the store. She said no. When he pulled into his driveway, his mind was still at a lost on what to do. After resetting the house alarm, he took off his jacket and called out Volanda’s name. No response. After a quick search, he found her in the shower.
“I didn’t hear you come in, baby,” she said, sticking her head from behind the shower curtain.
“What’s that smell? Smells like my favorite,” he said patting his stomach.
“It is.” She smiled. “Lasagna.”
He walked in and gave her a wet kiss. He was tempted to join her in the shower, but she playfully pushed him away telling him to keep an eye on the lasagna. Reaching the kitchen, he found that the table had been cleared and in the place of the African plates and cups was a stack of folders. He easily recognized the folder of Volanda’s cases. With the bathroom door wide open, he could easily hear the running shower and Volanda’s attempt to sing one of India Arie’s songs. He hated to sneak behind her back, but he could not pass up on the chance. Sitting down, he opened the top folder.
“Ain’t this a bitch,” he muttered when he saw the crime scene pictures of the two Arabs. His heart sped up when he came across the highlighted word ‘suspect’ and directly below it was a circled name, Ghetti. His fears were proven. Volanda was working the case to bag his cousin. He read the entire sheet and read the description of Ghetti’s Chevy, but no mention of the tag number. Flipping quickly through the report, he found the notes that Volanda had written during her interview with Regail Fields, A.K.A. Poo-Man. Scanning through a second folder, he came across the autopsy report. He grimaced at the number of times the victim in the street was hit. First, his arm was nearly torn off by the pump and then he took four to the head from a .45. The victim in the Navigator was guaranteed a closed casket funeral. Mance could not picture Ghetti committing a violent crime, not in a sane mind. He knew Ghetti would blaze one up now and then, but for him to do some crazy shit like this; it was going too far. He would make it a point to ask Ghetti if he was using anything stronger than weed. He searched painstakingly for any mentioning of Ghetti’s real name. He knew one thing, if he came across his address, then it meant some serious bullshit was in the game. All of this shit seemed surreal. As he read on, he realized that no one knew much about Ghetti. Most important, no one saw him pulling the trigger—well, two did, but dead men can’t talk. The only heat was coming from snitch ass, Poo-Man. He was reading a copy of Amanda’s report of the crime scene and got caught slipping.
“You’re going to solve that case for me?” Volanda suddenly walked into the kitchen.
Mance shot to his feet, dropping the folder.
“I . . . ummmmm . . . the . . .” he stammered.
“Was being nosey,” She laughed, walking toward the stove. “Did you even check the lasagna, baby?”
He began to relax when he realized she was not going to trip. “Um, yeah.” He picked up the folder.
“I didn’t mean to leave my work on the table, but I wasn’t expecting you to come home early. I hope those crime scene pictures didn’t spoil your appetite,” she said, checking on the lasagna.
“Nah, I’m straight.” He sat down, watching her change the temperature on the stove. He could not deny the love he held toward her. He was still at a lost on his angle to seek some answers as she sat across him at the table.
“Mance,” she said softly. Something in her voice caused him to look up from the folder.
“What’s up?”
She reached across the table for his hands. “I love you so very much,” she said, sincerely. “You need to hold that deep within your heart, baby.”
“I already do. Is something wrong?”
“No, baby,” she said, caressing his hands with her thumbs.
“Good.” He gave her hands a light squeeze.
“Mance, you, and our baby are the most important things in my life. I can honestly admit that I had my reservations about you when I first met you. I was fooled into believing that a brother with gold teeth was nothing but a hoodlum. Your approach to me was sweet and I am so happy to have you in my life. What I feel for you lives in here.” She released his hand and pointed at her heart. “And it’s genuine, Mance. I’m completely in love with you. You found your way into my mind and it led to you finding the path to my heart.” She placed her hand back inside his. “What we are building is called forever, baby. I’m your best friend, your lover, your wife and the mother of your first-born.”
“I love you so much,” he said affectionately.
“Mance, do you trust me?”
“Of course I do, baby.”
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes momentarily. “Mance, something happened today.”
“Like what?”
She cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to say this . . .” She looked into his eyes, squeezing his hands. “Baby, an uhhh . . . secret informant told me . . .” She lowered her eyes. Her nose started to itch.
“Told you what? Volanda? Volanda, talk to me, baby.”
Volanda could not proceed with her deception. She loved him too much. Yanking her hands away she covered her face and started to sob. Mance was kneeling at her side in a heartbeat trying his best to calm her down. She burst into tears.
“I know, I know, I know.” She sobbed through her hands. When he made out what she was saying, he tenderly tried to remove her hands from her face. Seeing her in tears was painful.
“Keith,” she cried. “I know about him—Ghetti is Keith.”
Mance released her. He stood up. How did she know? It wasn’t in the report so . . . Oh shit! The secret informant.
“I’m soooo sorry, baby,” she cried. “Baby, I’m sorry. Please d-don’t be mad . . . at meeeee.”
He was confused. What was she sorry about and why would he be mad at her? He needed to calm her down and get some answers because things were far from looking and sounding good. He pulled her to her feet and into his embrace.
“Baby relax,” he whispered into her ear, rubbing her back. “Sshhhh. Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
“Keith.” She continued to cry on his shoulder. “He’s . . . the suspect . . . in the case th-that . . . Amanda and I are on.” She clung to him tightly.
“Who gave you this info? Tell me about the secret informant.”
“Nooooo.” She wailed. “Pleaseeee don’t be mad at me, Mance. Please. Please!”
“Calm down, baby. You are confusing me, okay? Sshhhh. C’mon now, baby. Relax and talk to me. Why would I be mad at you, huh?”
“Because . . . because I broke into—your nephew’s bedroom.” She sobbed.
“You did what!” He tried to separate himself from her.
“Mance! Baby please,” she begged. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry!” She pulled at his shirt refusing to let him go. To her, she was holding on to her love.
“Why were you snooping behind my fuckin’ back, Volanda?” he said firmly. He looked down at her grip. She couldn’t talk through her tears.
“Answer my question, Volanda! Why were you in my cousin’s room?”
Volanda gasped. Releasing his shirt, she took a few steps back. “You—you told me that room belongs to your nephew!” Tears ran heavily down her cheeks.
The Game of Deception Page 16
