Crime of Passion

by Roy Glenn

  “Nothing, I wasn't looking at nothing,” Gloria said shaking.

  “Oh, so I ain't nothin'! You pretty bitches, think y'all better than me?” he pointed it at Gloria. “See if you better than this.” he fired one shot at Gloria and grazed her temple.

  “NO!” Mondrya yelled. He turned the gun on Mondrya and fired three shots.

  “What the fuck you doing? Let's get outta here,” the one by the door yelled. The three rushed out, leaving Gloria and Mondrya laying on the floor.

  The paramedics pronounced Mondrya dead on arrival.

  ON SECOND THOUGHT

  At ten o'clock on Tuesday morning, Marcus woke up and looked over at Carmen, she was dead to the world. He laid next to her quietly and looked at her. Even in her sleep, Carmen was beautiful. These last few days with her made Randa's betrayal seem like a distant memory. He felt lucky; lucky to be with her. He eased out of bed quietly and made his way to the shower. When he got out, Carmen was still asleep. He dressed quietly and left her a note saying that he would be back around two.

  Marcus arrived at Hudson Financial to pick up Mondrya Foster for lunch. He had been anxious to find out what she had that would interest him. Besides, Mondrya Foster is a beautiful woman. Beautiful married woman. Besides, didn't you just leave a beautiful woman sleeping in your bed?

  Marcus approached the receptionist, once again thinking how lucky he was to be with Carmen. She was so much fun to be with and so down to earth, not the phony, overly impressed with herself like he thought she would be.

  Wrong woman, you're thinking about Randa.

  “Good morning,” the receptionist said.

  “Good morning. Marcus Douglas to see Mondrya Foster, please.”

  The receptionist took a deep breath. “I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but Ms. Foster was murdered last night.”

  Marcus grabbed hold of the counter to steady himself. “Murdered?”

  “Yes, murdered. She was at Starbucks in downtown Decatur last night when they were robbed. One of the robbers shot her three times. I'm sorry,” she said as the phone rang.

  “Well thank you, anyway,” Marcus said and she waved goodbye, mouthing the words, I'm sorry, again.

  As he turned to leave, Marcus saw Bill Hudson coming toward him. “Marcus Douglas!”

  “How are you, Bill?”

  “Fair to partly cloudy,” Hudson smiled. “What brings you here?”

  “I was going to have lunch with Mondrya Foster.”

  “Very tragic. A wonderful woman like that, shot down for no reason. I was on my way to have a drink. Why don't you join me?”

  “I could use a drink,” Marcus said and followed Hudson to the elevator.

  Marcus followed Bill to a very popular downtown strip club called Cheetah III on Spring Street. “I hope you don't mind drinking here, Marcus, but I like to have a little entertainment with my drink.”

  “No, Bill, I don't mind. I've been known to enjoy a drink or two at places like this.”

  “Have you even been here before?”

  “Can't say that I have, Bill. I don't mean to sound politically incorrect, but I prefer to have my entertainment in color. But this might be an interesting change of pace for me.”

  “I know what you mean,” Hudson said as he flashed his membership card to the doorman. “I've been known to go down to Magic City and Goosebumps every now and then. One thing I'll say for them black gals there, they sure do give you a show for your money. But they usually have one or two black gals dancing here.”

  Hudson led Marcus to a table near the main stage. Marcus looked around. He had been to many strip clubs before, but this was different. At noon, the place was crowded with men in business suits.

  “Vodka and tonic!” Hudson yelled over the loud music to the waitress. “What you having, Marcus?”

  “Hennessy, straight. On second thought make it a double,” he said and the waitress departed to get their drinks. Once she cleared the table, a tall blonde woman with enormous breast approached the table.

  “Hi, Bill! Long time, no see.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I was starting to think you didn't love us no more.”

  “Just been so damned busy lately. But you know if I don't love nobody, I love you, honey.”

  “Would you like me to dance for you?”

  “Sure, honey, go ahead.” While she started to take off her outfit, Hudson leaned toward Marcus. “Them titties, fake as shit and hard as a rock. Most disappointing thing in the world.”

  Since Marcus wasn't overly impressed with the entertainment, Hudson was right, sistahs give you a show, all she's doing is playing in her hair, and posing, so he turned to the business at hand.

  “Do you know what happened to Mondrya?”

  “I talked to her husband this morning. The police told him that the son-of-a-bitch shot her because she was looking at him. They didn't have to kill her, just take the money and go. But these young punks think that shooting women and kids makes them a man. Drug dealers with empty souls, all of them.”

  Marcus looked at Hudson with a bit of contempt. “You're not saying that you think all Black people are drug dealers with empty souls?”

  “Shit no! But a son-of-a-bitch like that, deserves to die a slow painful death. They oughta bring back firing squads. Line them all up and shoot them. I'd sure volunteer,” Hudson went on. “I didn't know that you knew Mondrya.”

  “We only met last week. I came to talk to,” Marcus started to tell Hudson that he came there last week to talk to him about Frank Collins, but he thought better of it, “to talk to you. I was looking for some investment advice. When they told me that you were not in, Mondrya stepped in.”

  “Do you have any more questions?”

  “No, she was able to answer all my questions. I can't believe she's dead.”

  “It is hard to believe. I'm having problems dealing with it myself. I hadn't even begun to think of what the company is going to do without her. Those are going to be big shoes to fill,” Hudson said draining his drink. “We got a lot of shoes to fill now. Last week one of our senior execs, Coleman Wilson, hung himself. I was going to move Mondrya into that spot. But now I have two spots to fill. Investors and stock holders don't like this kind of shake up in upper management. But you do what you have to do, Marcus. And as long as everybody keeps making money, no one cares what you do. A man could get away with anything as long as there's enough money floating around.” Hudson flagged down a waitress. “How 'bout bringing us two more.” He turned to Marcus, “Hennessy, right? And a vodka and tonic for me, sugar,” Hudson said dismissing her. “Speaking of getting away with anything, congratulations on winning your case. I was sure that son-of-a-bitch Ferguson did it.”

  “So did a lot of people. A lot of them still think he did it and got away with murder. Which one are you?”

  “I'm a numbers man, Marcus. If there is one constant in the world, its numbers. They always gotta add up. DA's case just didn't add up. Time wasn't right, and that's where you found your opportunity. Showed us all that they just didn't have the numbers. Kicker was when you marched that good old boy deputy sheriff in there and he said that there's no way he coulda drove past me doing more than forty-five.”

  “Not on my shift,” Marcus said in his best good old boy accent. “I thought it was a power move myself.”

  “Hawkins shoulda seen that coming. Disappointed a lot of influential people. I'm talking people with money. And you can't run for district attorney without money.” The waitress returned with their drinks. “I wanna settle up, honey. I got to be getting back.” Hudson paid the check and tipped the waitress handsomely. “You know, Marcus, some of those people, myself included, liked the way you handled yourself during the trial.”

  “Thank you, Bill. Just doing what a good defense attorney would do.”

  “Winning the case is important, shit, everyone likes to win. But what's more important is the way you handle yourself. Whether people can count on you to do what's right. T
he public is screaming for somebody they can put their trust in. Or at least gives them a perception of trust, you know what I'm talking about, Marcus?” Hudson took a sip of his drink. “I was wondering if you had any political aspirations?”

  Marcus laughed. “To be honest with you, Bill, I never gave it any thought.”

  “Then give it some thought before you answer. But I can assure you that under the right set of circumstances, the money would be there for you.” Hudson finished his drink. “I gotta get back, but let’s get together in a week or two, and we'll talk about it some more then.”

  Marcus drove back to his house overwhelmed by the conversation he'd just had with Bill Hudson. Did he just ask me to run for District Attorney? Once he got past the shock of it, and his ego returned to its normal size, Marcus began to question Hudson's motives. Not that he didn't think he was a good enough lawyer. Capable of doing the job, but why now? It made Mondrya's message, 'I have some things that I'm sure will interest you,' make Hudson's sudden offer seem just a little dubious. Did that something that Mondrya had involve Hudson? He couldn't be sure.

  Now who's seeing bad guys around every corner?

  Then he thought maybe his group wanted to capitalize on his name recognition. Which was much more likely.

  When Marcus came into the house, Carmen was in the kitchen fixing a late lunch for them. He called to her. “Carmen!”

  “In the kitchen,” she answered. “You're back early. I wasn't expecting you until two. I was making us something to eat.”

  “I'm gonna get fat hanging around with you.”

  “Maybe you should start running with me in the morning. I need to get back to it. I haven't been running since Saturday.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “Yours. You're a bad influence on me. Laying up in the bed sleeping at eleven o'clock in the morning.”

  “If you like, I'll leave you alone tonight.”

  Carmen stopped what she was doing. “What are you trying to say?”

  “That I'll forego my usual nocturnal activities, and let you get to sleep early so you can get up at the crack of dawn and run.”

  “I wasn't saying all that now. Maybe we could just start earlier.” Carmen put her arms around Marcus and kissed him. “Because at two o'clock in the morning you're still bringing it strong and stayin long.”

  Marcus looked at his watch and smiled at Carmen. “You wanna get started now?”

  “Let's eat first. It will give us energy in the late rounds. Have a seat it will be ready soon. So where did you sneak off to this morning.”

  “Nowhere special. Someone just asked me to think about running for district attorney.”

  “Who?” Carmen asked.

  “Bill Hudson.”

  “Hudson Financial, Bill Hudson?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Kinda coincidental that we're investigating somebody at his company and out of the blue, he asks you to run for DA,” Carmen said and bought the food to the table.

  “I thought so, too.”

  “But maybe he just wants to capitalize on your approval ratings.”

  “I thought that, too.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “Just a little while ago at Cheetah III.”

  “The strip club downtown?” Carmen frowned. “What were you doing there?”

  “I went to Hudson Financial to have lunch with Mondrya Foster, but she was murdered last night in a robbery at a Starbucks. I ended up running into Hudson and he invited me there to have a drink with him. Like you said he just came out of the blue with it.”

  “Who is Mondrya Foster?”

  “She was my source at Hudson. She left a message for me yesterday and said that she had some things that she was sure would interest me. But whatever she had, died with her.”

  “And you were having lunch with her?” Carmen asked with just a bit of an attitude.

  “I wanted to know what she had.”

  “Is that what you snuck out of bed for? To have lunch with what's-her-name?”

  “Carmen, are you jealous?”

  “No!” Carmen said quickly and definitely. “Well, maybe just a little,” Carmen said, surprised at herself. Her feelings for Marcus were developing faster than she thought. Maybe she needed to give herself some space. After all she had been with Marcus the better part of everyday since she'd been in Atlanta. Not to mention all of the last four days.

  “Don't be jealous, Carmen,” Marcus said. He got up from the table and put his arms around her waist, while he kissed her on the back of her neck.

  “On second thought, who needs food.” Carmen turned into his arms and kissed his lips. “Let's get started now.” Then the doorbell rang.

  TIME TO KILL

  Garrett drove slowly down Herndon Pkwy on the way back from East Point, a suburb of Atlanta. He turned off the radio. Garrett liked driving in silence; it gave him a chance to think without being bombarded with the musical thoughts, needs, desires, and thug passions of every singer and rapper that came over the airwaves.

  Mostly he thought about the past weekend with his children. His first weekend without Paven and his first weekend in years without work. It felt a little funny at first; not rushing out the house first thing in the morning, but he could get used to it. Garrett picked up the children on Friday night and they spent the rest of the evening talking. They went to the movies and out to dinner on Saturday and to the park on Sunday. The children told their father that they missed him and wanted to come home. He told them that they had to talk to their mother about that.

  “She is welcome to come home anytime she wants to.”

  “Every time I ask her when we're going home, she just says she needs time to think,” his oldest daughter Aleana said. She was sixteen and reminded Garrett so much of her mother when she was that age.

  “I asked her what's there to think about,” his son Gary said.

  “Your mother and I are having some problems right now and she needs a little time to sort things out for herself.”

  “I know, she told us all about it. You're never home and she feels trapped,” Aleana said. “But why do we have to suffer. I can't live another day with grandma.”

  “Why not?” Garrett asked.

  “She's so picky about everything,” Aleana answered with attitude.

  “And we always gotta be quiet. We can't have any fun,” Monique, his youngest said. At eight years old, she was the apple of her father’s eye. She sat down in her father’s lap. “Daddy, I wanna come home.”

  “Yeah daddy, we all do,” Gary said.

  “Look, I know your grandmother ain't easy to live with, but give it time. Your mother and I need some time to work this out.”

  As Garrett drove he thought about that point, some time to work this out, but just how much time was Paven going to need? That, after all these years, he couldn't answer. Their relationship began when they were both in the ninth grade and continued into college. While the two were in their sophomore year at the University of Georgia, Paven got pregnant with Aleana. They were soon married and Garrett quit school to support his new family. He worked any job he could, until he received an offer to join the Atlanta Police Department.

  After Aleana was born, Paven went back to college. She was four months pregnant with Gary when she received her degree in chemistry. Now with two young children, Paven didn't want strangers raising their children. She wanted to stay home for a few years to give them a good foundation. Garrett agreed, ain't nothin' worse than bad children, and that's where it began. Garrett took the first of many second jobs.

  How could I have let things get this far?

  Garrett loved Paven; almost from the day they met. Sure he had been unfaithful from time to time over the years, but they never meant anything to him. Although it may have been a contributing factor, that wasn't what this was about. I took Paven for granted. I was sure she'd always be there. What he wanted now was his family back.

  Since he d
idn't have to think about going home to be with his family, Garrett did what came natural. Work. So, as promised, he freed up some time from his case to go talk to Porsche Temple. It turned out to be an interesting afternoon. One that he was looking forward to sharing with Marcus. He pulled in the driveway, parked, and approached the house admiring the gold Mercedes in the driveway. Garrett rang the bell, wondering whose car it was.

  “Garrett, come on in,” Marcus said, stepping aside to let him in.

  “What's up, Marcus. I wanted to tell you about my afternoon with Porsche Temple, but I see you have company.”

  “No, I want to hear what she had to say,” Marcus said excitedly.

  “I do, too,” Carmen said coming out of the kitchen.

  “Ms. Taylor, I wasn't expecting to see you,” Garrett said and bowed at the waist. “You're looking especially radiant today.”

  “Hello, Garrett. And its time you started calling me Carmen.”

  “Okay, Carmen, I see we've upgraded our mode of transportation.”

  “It was my sister’s car.”

  “Her brother in-law gave it to her,” Marcus said quietly.

  “I wish somebody would give me a 500 Benz,” Garrett threw in, making his way to the living room.

  “What did Porsche Temple have to say for herself?” Marcus asked. Garrett looked at Carmen, somewhat disappointed that since she was there he would have to tell the story without all the colorful details.

  “I rang the bell at Porsche Temple's house around three this afternoon. When nobody answered the door, I rang the bell again. This time, somebody opened the door.”

  “Yes?” Simone asked through the barred screen door.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Garrett Mason. I'm a private investigator.” Garrett held his card onto the door for Simone to see.

  “And?” Simone replied, looking and sounding unimpressed.

  “I'd like to speak to Porsche Temple. Is she here?” When Simone didn't answer, Garrett said, “Carmen Taylor asked me to speak to her about the murder of Desireé Ferguson.”