by Debra Webb
Maybe there were a few things CJ could learn from her sister’s life.
Live for the present . . . not the future.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Dallas Mill, 7:08 PM
Where the hell was that motherfucker at?
Tyrone paced back and forth in the warehouse.
He’d come in alone, just like he’d been told. Well, he appeared to be alone. That would have to be enough.
Tyrone wasn’t no fool. He never went anywhere alone. He’d sent his two most trusted men, two-thirds of his trinity, here to take up positions an hour before his scheduled arrival. His driver waited in the Escalade.
Wasn’t nobody pulling no shit over on him. Too many dead bodies piling up lately.
“What the hell?” he muttered as he checked his Rolex. That motherfucker was supposed to have been here at seven sharp. It was ten after.
Too fucking dark in here. Couldn’t hardly see shit. He’d left the loading dock doors open wide enough to let some light from the street filter in, but it was still too fucking dark.
A rusty creak echoed in the darkness.
Tyrone turned toward the sound, tried to see through the dark.
“That you, motherfucker?” He wasn’t playing no games with this asshole.
A rolling sound told him the dock doors behind him was being pushed closed. He whipped around. The narrow beam of light from the street disappeared as the door slammed shut.
He snatched the 9 millimeter outta his waistband. “You don’t want to pull no shit on me,” he warned. “I got the video. You fucked if you mess with me.”
A footstep, then another . . . coming closer.
Shit. What the fuck? “You better talk to me ’fore I start shooting.”
A click echoed and a blinding light hit him square in the eyes. Tyrone tried to shield his face with his hand.
“Where’s the video?”
“You got the money?” Tyrone demanded.
“The tape,” the voice pressed. “It wasn’t in your SUV.”
What the hell was he talking about? “Ain’t no way you been in my Escalade.” Bullshit.
“You mean because of the ape behind the wheel?”
The beam of light circled around Tyrone’s face. He backed up a few steps. “That’s right. My man woulda killed your ass if you’d come near my Escalade.”
“That would have been very difficult for him to do, considering he’s dead.”
Fear slammed into Tyrone’s chest. “Antoine! Jerome!”
“They’re dead, too,” the voice warned. “It’s quite thrilling how quickly a man bleeds out if you open up the proper artery.”
“You dead, motherfucker.”
Something hit him in the chest. Tyrone hesitated. Tried to see what the hell it was.
The jolt of electricity loosened his fingers on the gun. It clattered to the floor. Tyrone tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t work.
Another jolt hit him.
He crumpled to the floor.
The footsteps came closer and closer. The beam of light shone straight down in his eyes, but he couldn’t close them. Couldn’t even blink.
“What a pity.”
Hands groped his body, searching for the videotape. Tyrone would have smiled if he could have. That motherfucker wasn’t never gonna find that tape. Fuck him.
Strong hands dragged him across the floor, then lifted him into a chair.
Tyrone tried to make his body move . . . couldn’t.
Piece after piece of duct tape was ripped from a roll and wrapped around and around his arms and legs, securing him to the chair. The light was in his face, leaving the bastard in darkness. Tyrone wanted to close his eyes against the light but couldn’t. That Taser had fucked him up. But it wouldn’t last much longer . . . he could feel his strength coming back.
When the motherfucker had finished, he stood back, the light still shining in Tyrone’s face. “Tyrone Nash. The King. You are so full of yourself. It’s time the world saw you for what you really are.
“No one.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
2805 Dubose Street, 9:40 PM
CJ sipped a Pepsi as she listened to the women of Dubose Street regale her with tales of life in the village. It wasn’t always pretty, but they made the best of it.
The music was loud in the living room, where those who preferred to dance were bumping and grinding to their favorite rappers. She didn’t even want to think what was going on upstairs. Didn’t matter. Here, in the kitchen, it was just girl talk.
The foot soldiers she’d met at the clinic puffed on their Newports and sucked on Grey Goose and Patrón. Most were inebriated, but CJ didn’t mind. They talked about Shelley and how she had rescued each of them at one time or another.
All this time CJ had considered her sister so helpless. But the truth was, she’d been far stronger than CJ could have imagined. Strong enough to survive this life. To help those around her and to stand up for what she believed in.
“That’s what got her kilt,” the girl with the seventies’ fro confirmed. “She wasn’t taking no more of Ty’s shit.”
Pink Shorts Girl, who now wore a skimpy striped sundress, shot ’Fro Girl a look. “I know you drunk, but you better be careful what you say. You know Ty has ears all over the village.” She looked to one of the others. “Could be you.” Her attention shifted to another. “Could be you.”
“It’s okay,” CJ said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve come to terms with my sister’s life and her death.” Emotion tightened her throat. “It’s not how I would have liked it to be, but who am I to judge her?” She met each gaze in turn. “Or any of you. You’re just trying to survive.”
“That’s what I’m talking ’bout,” Super-tight Jeans Girl said. “I ain’t ashamed of how I make my living.” She shrugged. “Hell, somebody’s gotta do it or all these old rich freaks would go psycho or some shit.”
“Poor ones, too,” Tube Top Girl added. “They worse than them old rich dudes. ‘Here baby,’ ” she mocked, “ ‘I got ten dollars. What that git me?’ ”
Laughter teetered around the table.
“I got a good answer for that,” ’Fro Girl said. “He can lick my ass for ten dollars. Most nights I could use a cleanup anyways.”
More of that belly-busting laughter.
“Cleanup on aisle brown!” someone shouted.
CJ’s escort shifted in the doorway. She smiled at him, was relatively certain he would prefer to make an early exit. CJ wouldn’t prolong his misery. She lifted her Pepsi can. “To Shelley and Celeste.” CJ surveyed those gathered around the table. “And all of you lovely ladies of Dubose Street.”
Glasses clinked with her can amid the chiming toasts.
CJ pushed back her chair and stood.
“So you leaving us, Doc?” Striped Sundress Girl asked.
“Well . . .” CJ gestured to the handsome young detective waiting at the door. “I’m sure my escort is feeling the effects of all the estrogen. I really shouldn’t drag out his misery.”
Jenkins held up both hands in surrender. “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”
“You mighty cute for a cop,” Tube Top Girl teased. She stood and twisted right up to Jenkins. “I might’ve seen you around, sweet thang.”
“I . . . don’t think so, ma’am.” Jenkins managed a nervous smile.
More of that earthy laughter erupted.
“You on to something, girl.” Super-tight Jeans Girl slinked over to join the other two. “This cutie pie does look a little like somebody I’ve seen before.” She looked him up and down. “You got a thing for black, Mr. Detective?”
CJ slid her chair in. She was pretty sure if she didn’t get Jenkins out of here, these ladies were going to eat him alive. “Thank you, ladies. This was the most unique memorial service I’ve ever attended.”
“Course it was,” Striped Sundress Girl said. “You on Du-bose Street, girl. We all unique.”
Hugs were exchanged. CJ didn’t miss the
relief on Jenkins’s face. He was definitely ready to get out of here.
Once they were out the door, the detective took a look around, checking the street, before escorting her to his car. He unlocked the passenger-side door and opened it for CJ. “Thank you,” she said.
He gave her one of those shy smiles and hurried around to the driver’s side. Once they were out of the village he appeared to relax.
“I really appreciate you coming with me tonight, Detective Jenkins.”
“Not a problem, ma’am.”
Such a nice guy. She’d certainly unfairly judged HPD cops by the ones she’d known in the village as a kid.
More of that unsettling silence. Jenkins was likely tired. Braddock had kept him on surveillance duty extra-long hours.
“Do you think Nash will be found?”
“I doubt it.” Jenkins slowed for a traffic signal. “He’s not going to go down easy for murders he didn’t commit.”
Surprise jarred CJ. The light changed to green and he rolled through the intersection. “You don’t think Tyrone committed these murders?” Braddock had suggested he was leaning that way as well.
The dash lights allowed CJ to see the flush of embarrassment that climbed the detective’s neck. “I . . . I’m just saying that it’s possible he isn’t the one.”
For a moment CJ considered all that she knew. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”
Jenkins glanced at her, his expression startled. He quickly set his attention back on the street and maneuvering through traffic.
Another space of silence elapsed before he spoke again. “He’s not really the way you think he is. I mean, if you consider his history and all that, like a profiler would. A lot of what’s going on doesn’t add up.”
CJ started to ask what he meant, but he rolled to a stop in front of Edward’s house.
“Here you go, ma’am.” Jenkins hopped out and rushed around to CJ’s door.
She’d scarcely emerged when he offered, “I’ll walk you to the door.”
“That’s not necessary.” He could see the door from here.
“I have my orders, ma’am.”
He was right. He climbed the steps next to her, waited as she unlocked the door. Edward had given her a key.
“Thank you again, Detective.”
He nodded and double-timed it back toward his car. He pulled out his cell phone as he went. CJ wondered vaguely if it would be Braddock calling with news.
Not another murder, she hoped.
CJ went inside and closed the door behind her. A few taps of the keys and the warning tone of the security system was silenced.
After checking the door to see that she’d locked it, she wandered through the house. Surely Edward was home by now, but it was awfully quiet if he was. He’d left well before she and Jenkins had.
Wine would ensure she slept well. She’d abstained from alcohol at the party, mainly because she’d wanted to be fully alert for anything the girls getting loose might have said. But now she could relax.
She stepped into the kitchen. Froze. Her heart rocketed into her throat.
The man turned from the sink and relief flooded her. Edward. “Whew.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “You scared me. I didn’t think you were home yet.” She couldn’t help staring at his choice in attire. She’d never seen him wearing a T-shirt. Black tee, black trousers. Different. He was generally dressed as if he were headed to the university to teach. She’d never known him to wear anything less than a crisply starched button-down shirt and elegant trousers.
“Sorry for the fright.” He smiled. “I just returned.” He finished drying his arms with a hand towel.
That was another thing. His shirtsleeves, even in hot weather, were always long, never short.
She shook her head. She was obsessing. “Don’t mind me. With all that’s happened, I’m a little skittish.” She moved to the massive double refrigerator. “Would you like to have wine with me?” When she closed the fridge door to look to him for his answer, he was mopping his face with the towel. Now that really was bizarre. Not like him at all.
“That would be quite refreshing.”
She carried the bottle to the generous island. Told herself not to stare at him, but simply couldn’t help it. She blinked, looked again.
“You have . . .” She rounded the corner of the island, took the towel from his hand, and dabbed at his forehead. “There was blood on your forehead.” Had his wound from the knock on the head been oozing? “Are you all right?”
He stared at her a moment, then seemed to snap to attention. “I’m fine, really. I came home to quite a mess. That’s all.”
“What happened?” Her pulse jumped.
He took the towel from her hand. It was then that she noticed it was quite bloody. Far more so than simply wiping that few drops from his forehead would have made it.
“A neighbor’s cat had been hit by a car.” He sighed, the sound weary. “I picked it up from the street, tried to do what I could.” He shook his head. “But it was too late.”
“It’s a wonder it hadn’t scratched you.” Instinctively, she surveyed his arms and hands. The vision of those words scrawled on the bedroom wall in cat’s blood flashed across her retinas. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. The poor thing was a bit far gone to give me any trouble. It died soon after I came to its rescue. I wrapped it in a plastic bag until morning. I didn’t see any point in upsetting the neighbors at this hour.”
She couldn’t help herself. She had to hug him. “You’re too kind for your own good, Edward Abbott.”
“Did you have a nice evening?” He opened a cabinet door and tossed the badly soiled hand towel into the trash.
“I did.” She smiled, relaxing again. “It was nice. Exactly what I needed to feel as if I’d done right by Shelley’s memory.”
A shadow passed over Edward’s face, something akin to irritation or frustration. “I’m glad you have that behind you.”
His comment seemed strange. Maybe he was still annoyed that she hadn’t allowed him to host a memorial service for Shelley. “Did your meeting go well?” She was beginning to think it hadn’t. Edward rarely showed such a moody side.
“Not as well as I’d hoped.” He gathered two stemmed glasses. “If I hadn’t made an appearance, I’m quite certain the funding for many important programs would have been slashed.”
Edward donated much of his time and his money to see that all of Huntsville’s children had the opportunity of books. “I’m glad you went.”
She poured the wine. “To the library.” She lifted her glass. “And the man who gave me the opportunity of books and so much more.” It pained her to see that small wound on his forehead. Reminded her of what he’d risked for her.
He touched her glass gently with his own, his face a study in perplexity. “Does this mean you’re thinking of returning to Baltimore soon?”
She nodded. The decision had only just solidified. “Yes. I need to ensure that someone takes over the clinics here, but yes. I’m going back as soon as possible.” She met his eyes, hoping her determination showed in her own. “I don’t want to miss a minute of my future. The one you helped me attain.”
The relief that showed in his face, his posture, made her heart hurt. She’d put him through the wringer. He knew what was best for her and she’d skated very close to letting him down.
A wave of exhaustion washed over CJ. She was spent. It was all catching up to her now. Somehow tonight had felt like the final hurdle. All that was left to do now, beyond ensuring that the clinics were covered, was to bury her sister at Maple Hill Cemetery. As girls they’d often played there. It was a lovely, historic cemetery. Shelley would be pleased.
Braddock had promised to take care of the investigation. She trusted him to do that. He wouldn’t let her down.
She gave Edward another hug and headed upstairs. Maybe a long bath and then a good night’s sleep. She didn’t really expect to
hear from Braddock. He had his hands full with this investigation. She would talk to him tomorrow.
Maybe they would get through one night without a murder.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Dallas Mill, 11:42 PM
“No, man,” Buddy Henagar said, “I didn’t touch nothing.”
Braddock knew better than that shit. The guy had probably gone through the Escalade looking for money or anything he might be able to pawn.
“You just happened to walk through the area and see the vehicle sitting here?”
“Yeah.” The guy nodded over and over. Had the shakes. Bad teeth. Stringy hair.
Meth addict.
“I saw it sitting here and I thought, what the hell is a fancy car like that doing sitting here? I wandered over.” He shrugged. “Took a look through the window and saw the big nig—big guy with his throat slashed.” He shuddered. “I run all the way back over to my cousin’s and called y’all.”
Bullshit. “See that uniform right there?” Braddock pointed to the cop guarding the perimeter. “You give him your statement. Don’t go anywhere until he’s taken your statement. He’ll need a statement from your cousin as well.”
“Don’t worry, man. I ain’t going nowhere till y’all say so. This is some shit. I ain’t never seen no one murdered before.”
Braddock rested his attention on the vehicle once more. Tyrone Nash’s vehicle. A member of his unholy trinity behind the wheel with a permanent grin beneath his chin. He and Cooper had gotten here maybe five minutes ago. Jenkins had arrived a couple of minutes later. Officer Larry Metcalf and his partner were watching Abbott’s house. Metcalf was the best of the best on HPD’s beat force. Braddock had known when he got the call with Nash’s license plate number that he was going to need both Cooper and Jenkins on the scene.
“Braddock!”
He turned to the warehouse. It was condemned. Part of the property had burned a few years ago. But that didn’t keep the homeless and kids from prowling around in it. Cooper and Jenkins had gone in to start the search inside while he’d gotten the sketchy guy’s story. “Yeah.”
