Ghetti remained in his seat. He didn’t want to fight Mance.
“He was last seen on a blue motorcycle,” Volanda said in hopes to ease the tense moment. “Would you have any idea on whom he would turn to?”
Ghetti was torn between common sense and going against the creed. Unable to look at either Volanda or Mance in the eye, he said he had no idea. Mance became even more irate. He came close to swinging on Ghetti, but he turned and stormed out of the kitchen. Volanda could not understand Ghetti. That same gangster mindset could cost him his life as well as his freedom. She pushed away from the table then went after her man. Ghetti sat alone, looking at his soggy bowl of cereal. His head started to ache with a migraine. After washing the bowl out, he left the kitchen. In his bedroom, he pulled out his cell phone and called San. No answer. He kicked his shoes off then got at ease on his bed. If he could do it all over again he would have taken the loss on the drugs. It was easy to regret his actions. He hoped that Maria would pull through. With thoughts of her, his mind pulled in Poo-Man. The HK .45C under his pillow was the object that Ghetti wanted to release his anger through. He was still running thoughts through his mind when Volanda knocked at his door.
“It’s open.” He sat up as she came in.
Volanda stepped in, leaving the door open. She sat down in the red club chair after Ghetti pushed the clothes and magazines to the floor.
“Mance cares about you,” she said. “I know things are tense right now, but you really need to take it more seriously.”
“Whut y’all want me to do?” He flopped down on the bed. “I know I fucked up big time, but all this arguing ain’t gettin’ us nowhere.”
“First, you need to listen to Mance. Your DNA was found at the crime scene and if you are caught, it is an open and shut case. Even if it’s not a first-degree murder, some type of conviction will be won. Again, with your DNA and how the crime was committed, the D.A. will have no problem proving that you did it willfully or deliberately. I’m not a lawyer, but I’ve seen how a lot of convictions are won.”
“Yo, I understand all that. But on the real, all this talk ’bout court and so on, ain’t even goin’ that route. But anyway, so whut you sayin’ is that the only link I have to the case is the DNA?”
“Yes.”
“Have you and Mance come up wit’ anything?”
“Not really. But worse case scenario, you would have to leave the country.”
He rubbed his chin. This was the second time he’d heard this suggestion, first from Fly and now Volanda. “Look, where exactly is my DNA being held at?”
“What do you mean? Your lab results are in our main database and due to the nature of the crime it was given to the FBI as well.”
“So um, basically whut you sayin’ is this, If I were to have my DNA tested anywhere in this country that it would then be ran for a link?”
“Correct. It will stay on file and a computer will run your DNA to see if it’s in the database for anything crime related. To be more—how can I put it in laymen terms? Your DNA that’s now on file will remain standing. Anyone that has their DNA taken will be run through the database for a match and once a match is found, then it’s another story.”
“Whut if . . . my DNA that’s at the lab gets missin’ or destroyed? Then whut?”
“Well, your DNA will still be on file, in the computer. But without the physical evidence—your saliva—well, I believe a good lawyer could get you off. No jury would stand behind a computer result. I never thought of this.” She pondered.
“See whut I’m getting’ at? If we can get rid of my DNA at that lab, then that should help out. Like you said, it’s the only link. So, you think it will work?”
“It might,” Mance said calmly.
Volanda and Ghetti turned to see Mance standing in the doorway. He walked in and sat down on the bed beside Ghetti.
“Look at how crooked that lab handled that Lacrosse case,” Mance pointed out. “I’ve read in the paper how a D.A. hid DNA or changed the shit just to get a conviction. Now Volanda, you know I love you, but the foundation of this so-called justice system is straight up bias and unfair. The public knows that had a white girl yelled that she was raped by four or five black men, their asses would have been tossed under the jail. And the quickness them white boys got their DNA tested, you’ll never see the same treatment for a black man.”
Volanda could not put up an argument because she had seen with her own eyes the special treatment, those white lacrosse players had received at the time of their arrest and bookings.
“Baby, this is truly easier said than done. It’s not like we can just walk into the lab and take his DNA,” Volanda said. “We will have to sit down and really plan this out.”
The three talked about the issue until it rolled around to 12:10 a.m. Volanda was the first to yawn. She told Ghetti goodnight. Mance stayed for a few minutes and eased the tension with Ghetti. After that, he left.
Mance stepped into his bedroom closing the door behind him. Volanda wasn’t in the room so he figured she was in the kitchen. Today had been hard on his mind and the soft pillows on the bed were calling his name. He was taking his clothes off, with his back toward the closet. He didn’t see nor hear Volanda easing out of the closet.
“Mance L. Martin, you are under arrest,” she purred.
Mance turned around and found his woman looking good enough to eat. She was making his dick hard with the gold boy shorts and stilettos. From behind her back, she held up a set of cuffs.
“What am I being charged with?” He played his role.
“You are charged with not giving me the make-up dick that I was promised.” She said it with a straight face. “Now turn around—sir.”
Mance turned around to be cuffed. Once they were in place, she pulled his boxers down. He stepped out of them, enjoying her hands searching and rubbing his body.
“That’s a weapon.” She went to her knees. “Mance, I love you so damn much.” Those were her last words before wrapping her hand and lips around his dick.
Four days on the run was damn near mentally killing Poo-Man. He had read about Maria in Sunday’s newspaper and the pops had released a brief statement. He knew he was the “person of interest” that the pops wanted to talk to. Fuck that! The paper listed Maria’s condition as critical. In the following three papers ending with Wednesday’s edition, nothing else about Maria was mentioned. His stash was nearly on zero. His cousin, Riff was out of town. Said he had some chicken head to visit down in Atlanta. His cousin Mikki, who he was staying with, was out with her boyfriend. Poo-Man realized that all of his troubles had started from his envy focused on Ghetti. Even now, with his mind numb from weed and beer, he knew his actions were foul. He was heading for the kitchen when a pair of headlights filled the living room window from behind the curtain. He made a u-turn, moving quickly for the window, and picking up the .38 from the sofa. He relaxed at the sight of the rimmed up Jeep Commander. He slid the curtain back then unlocked the door.
“Why are you still up, running up my damn light bill?” Mikki said when she entered. “Oh, I forgot, you ain’t got no job.” She laughed, taking her pink leather coat off.
“I don’t need no job when I got a lovin’ cousin like you,” Poo-Man joked.
“I got your love, right here.” Mikki stuck up her middle finger. “Did anybody come by to see me while I was out?”
“Nope.”
“Good,” Mikki said, pulling her calf high boots off.
“Where your man at? He coming in?”
“Yes, and don’t ask for no weed. Now let me go pack my clothes.” She headed down the hall toward the bedroom.
Two minutes later, Jay walked in.
“I’m in my room, baby!” Mikki shouted when she heard the front door close.
Poo-Man was stretched out on the sofa watching TV. He gave Jay a nod.
“What’s up?” Jay said, sitting down on the leather recliner.
“Ain’t nothing, I’m Poo-Man.�
�� Poo-Man sat up to bump his fist with Jay’s.
“You can call me Jay.”
“You smoke?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Got any for sale? Ain’t got but a nick left.” Poo-Man knew Jay was holding because Mikki had talked about him 247. Said he was a barber in Goldsboro.
“I got some, but I won’t charge you.” Jay reached into one of his pockets and pulled out half an ounce.
“Good lookin’!” Poo-Man quickly stashed the weed. Yeah, he knew he would get along with Jay.
While Poo-man and Jay were chilling, there was a knock at the door. Poo-Man stuffed his weed in his sock then went to answer the door. It was, Ellen, a friend of Mikki.
“Where, Mikki at?” She walked in smoking a cigarette.
“Mikki!” Poo-Man yelled closing the door. “Ellen here to see you.”
“Come on back girl,” Mikki shouted from her bedroom.
Poo-Man loved his cousin to death, but that didn’t push him to share the trouble he was facing. Ellen came out with Mikki and Mikki informed Poo-Man that she was going to spend the night with Jay.
“And don’t have nobody up in my crib!” Mikki added after Ellen had left. “And, Ellen will tell me if you do otherwise.”
Poo-Man frowned. “Damn yo. Who is she? The fuckin’ police?”
“Just don’t have nobody up in my shit like I said.”
He waved her off, happy that he would be alone to chill and get high. Less than a minute after Mikki and Jay left, he had the items laid out to roll a few blunts.
*Goldsboro, North Carolina*
Thursday February 1, 11:45 A.M.
Ghetti, Mance, Jay, and Stewart were all lounging in the barbershop for their lunch break. Dayshea and Shasta had gone out for some soul food. The topic among the four was women.
“Yo,” Ghetti said. “I respect James Brown, but how the godfather of soul gonna leave a seed by a white chick?”
“Love has no color or maybe the pussy was the bomb,” Jay added.
“I feel good!” Stewart spun around in his barber chair.
“Mance,” Ghetti said. “If you could date any woman in the world, who would she be?”
Mance was standing in front of the mirror shaping up his lines. He turned the clippers off. “Well, y’all know I love Volanda. But on the real, I’d go for Kimberly Elise.”
“Kimberly Elise?” Jay said. “I thought you like your women thick?”
“I do,” Mance replied. “Why you think Volanda got a ring and my baby on the way.”
“True true,” Ghetti said. “Yo, whut about you, Stewart?”
Stewart crossed his arms. “Let me think for a second. Hmmm, I think I would have to roll out with Eva Mendes.”
“How ’bout you Jay?” Ghetti asked.
“Shit, it’s easy. I’d take Oprah. Even without the money, I’d still lounge out with her. She thicker than a mutha!” Jay replied.
“Man, I bet Oprah would treat a nigga some kinda good!” Ghetti turned to Stewart.
“I know, right,” Mance added.
“Well, as for me,” Ghetti said. “I think I would like to see whut my girl TN Baker up to.”
“I read her book, ummm Sheisty last week,” Stewart said.
“I’d like to read her.” Ghetti stood up. “Shit, that’s whut I need to do. Bag me a fine ass author!”
“Your intellect ain’t deep enough so sit down,” Mance joked.
“Fuck an intellect! When I run this dick deep in ’em they ain’t gonna be able to talk.” Ghetti gave Jay some dap. “Word up. I can help ’em write mad fuck stories. Oh shit—and Zane! Word to moms, I’d bet anything that she go hard in the bed.” When the ringing of a cell phone sounded, everyone went for their phones.
“It’s mine, y’all.” Mance removed his phone from his hip. Looking at the caller I.D., he said it was his baby. “Hey baby, what’s up . . . Yeah . . . Word . . . Damn . . . Oh, I’ll do that now. I love you. . . Okay bye.” Mance called Ghetti over.
“Yeah.” Ghetti had no idea that bad news was coming.
Mance shook his head. “Dawg, your friend Maria she just died.”
Ghetti stood up, looking at Mance in pure disbelief. “I, thought she was goin’ to be okay?” Ghetti felt his nose itching. “Volanda said she was. . . ” his voice trailed off as his eyes began to water. Mance stepped forward as Ghetti fought hard to control his emotions.
“Shit ain’t fair,” Ghetti said as Mance embraced him. “She ain’t even had a chance to say good-bye yo.”
Everyone remained silent as Ghetti lost control of his emotions. Detective Hartford took the news of Maria’s death with a deep presence of guilt. She had stayed behind at the police station while Detective Carter went to the hospital. A human being was dead because of her poor judgment. The entire case was becoming frustrating to her. There were no substantial leads in the Glenbrook case and her superior officers were not pleased. She had too many problems to deal with. On top of that, she was upset with the decreasing amount of time that she was sharing with Verenity. Verenity was forever on the move since she had a new set of wheels. Verenity, of course, told Amanda a lie by saying her parents had given her the car for her good grades. Every time Amanda called Verenity in a plea to spend some time with her, Verenity would claim either she had a class or she was just too busy. Amanda had just gotten off the phone with Verenity and again she was turned down. Verenity said she had to study. And last, her plate of deception was full. Her husband was the last person whom she felt she could seek comfort from. In the back of her mind, she began to reminisce about her time with Vic. She did this in hopes to push the guilt from her mind over Maria. She hadn’t spoken to him since that night. She was pleased that he kept their actions a secret from Verenity. Flipping her cell phone open, she searched for his number then pressed the call button. She took the I.D. block off because she wanted him to know she was calling.
“Yeah?” His voice was flat.
“May I speak to Vic?” she said uneasy.
“Speakin’. This Amanda?”
“Yes.”
“Whut up?”
“Just going through a lot. I’m having a real dramatic day.”
“I can say the same. But I’m glad you called me.”
“Have you seen Verenity?”
“Not since Monday. Shit, since she got that car she stays on the go. Whut, she kicked you to the curb?”
“If you mean she has been ignoring me, then yes, I’ve been kicked to the curb.”
Ghetti laughed. “Where you at?”
“Ummm, at work. I’m a massage therapist.” She lied with ease.
“A massage therapist. No wonder your hands felt so good.”
“You have some remarkable hands yourself.” She closed her eyes remembering how his hands had worked her to a climax. “Vic, I would like to see you again.”
“Whut you got in mind?”
“A movie, I haven’t been to one in ages.”
“Time and place?”
“How about the Smithfield Cinema. We can meet there. Say . . . six thirty. Are you familiar with Smithfield?”
“Yeah, I got a cousin that stay in Selma.”
“Okay, if I get there before you, just look for a silver Chrysler Aspen.”
“Whut you tryin’ to see?”
“Anything without any violence.”
“All right, it’s a date.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Hey, I was thinking about you the other day. Well, yesterday really. I just cannot get over the way you made me feel—the things you said to me—the things you did to me—I can’t even think about it at all without getting chills.”
“Damn, you do know how to stroke my ego, huh?”
“Have you thought about me?”
“Honestly, yes I have.”
“You’re making me blush.” She giggled.
They talked for a few more minutes after confirming their date. The call ended with Amanda telling him that she would wear something se
xy for him. She was about to call Detective Carter when the mail clerk knocked on the door. She waved him.
“Got some mail for you, Mrs. Hartford.” He handed her four letters and a large white envelope. The four letters were all junk mail. The large white envelope was addressed to her without a return address. Looking at the postmark information told her that it had been mailed from Gainesville, Florida with the postmark dated, January 30, 2007. Odd, she knew of no one from Florida. Just as she began to open it, the phone on her desk started to ring. She laid the envelope to the side then answered the phone. It was Detective Carter requesting that she meet her at the Liberty Street public housing complex as soon as possible. The reason was due to a senseless gang shooting that left two fifteen-year-old kids shot to death. Detective Hartford shoved the letters inside her desk then left. On her way to the crime scene, she thought of all the visions of death she took in. So much death and yet she strongly wished for life to grow inside her; so much pain in her life. “Hey Shasta, can I holla at’cha for a second?”
“Yeah, Ghetti what’s up?”
Ghetti walked over to Shasta’s barber station as she continued to straighten out her work area. Jay and Stewart were busy cutting hair while Mance was in his office.
“Yo, can I use your car tonight?” he asked.
“And what’s wrong with your two cars?” she said, changing the blades on a pair of chrome clippers.
“Nothin’, I just ummmm . . . need to—”
“It’s not good to lie, Ghetti, and you know I can tell when you are up to something.” She glanced at him with a grin.
Ghetti sat down in her chair. “All right, I gotta meet this chick later tonight and ummm-”
“See, you need to just be up front, boy. I’ma go ahead and let you use my car, so here.” She turned and reached inside her purse for her car keys.
Ghetti pulled out the keys to his jet-black Infiniti M45 Sedan from his pocket.
“And the needle better be on F when I get it back,” she said. “Which will be?”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
Ghetti headed to the back and told Mance that he was leaving. He promised not to go to Durham. He left the barbershop in Shasta’s fire red hardtop convertible Volvo C70. He went home, took a long shower, and then headed back out. This was a simple date, no drama so he left the HK .45 under his pillow. It was 5:18 p.m. when he backed the Volvo out of the driveway. He was still thinking about Maria, still unable to believe that she was gone. On the six o’clock news, Regail Fields A.K.A Poo-Man became a famous face. A follow-up story about Maria had announced her death. Poo-Man was on the Most Wanted list. It was Detective Carter’s idea to hold off from making Poo-Man’s connection to the crime public knowledge. Her theory was based on Poo-Man becoming relaxed by thinking he had slipped away. He would then ease out of his hiding spot. Along with the sudden media coverage of Maria’s death and the search for Poo-Man, Detective Hartford had put up a $5,000 reward out of her own pocket. Detective Carter was faced with a tough situation. If and when Poo-Man was arrested, Poo-Man’s main play would still involve bringing down Ghetti for the Glenbrook murders.
The Game of Deception Page 18
