by Roy Glenn
“Okay,” Simone said with a change of attitude. “You can come in.” She put the pistol back in the drawer and unlocked the screen door.
“Thank you.”
“I'm sorry,” Simone said. “But I didn't know who you were.”
“I can understand that. You can't be too careful about who you let in your house. I should have called and let you know I was coming.”
“Don't sweat that now, you in here now,” she smiled. “I'll let Porsche know you're here,” Simone said showing Garrett into the living room. For the next fifteen minutes he occupied himself watching music videos on BET. He was caught off guard when Misty and Chocolate walked in the room. “Hello ladies,” Garrett said.
“Hi,” they both said, while Misty unplugged the CD player. Chocolate went out on the deck by the pool and Misty followed behind her. “Porsche said she'll be down in a minute,” she said as she walked out the room. So now Garrett entertained himself watching Misty and Chocolate. It wasn't too much longer before Porsche Temple came into the living room. “Mr. Mason?”
“Ms. Temple,” Garrett said rising to his feet.
“And it’s Porsche. Please have a seat.” Garrett gladly reclaimed his spot and Porsche made herself comfortable on the couch next to him. “Tell me what I can do for you?”
“Carmen Taylor asked me to talk to you and I apologize for just showing up like this. I was telling the young lady who answered the door that I should have called first.”
“It's alright. Carmen called me and said she'd asked you to talk to me. So I've been expecting you.”
“Good. I'll try not to take up a lot of your time.”
“I have all the time you need. How's your investigation going?” Porsche asked.
“Well, I'm just getting started and looking for a direction to go in. So, what I'd like to have happen here, is for you to tell me,” Garrett paused as he glanced out the sliding glass door at Misty and Chocolate, “everything you know about Desireé Ferguson. And if I ask you anything that you don't want to answer, just tell me to back off.”
“I've done a lot of things in my life and I'm not ashamed of any of them,” Porsche said confidently. “Ask me anything you want. I'm here to help you. If anything I say helps you find who did that shit to her, all the better.”
“Let’s start with you. What do you do, Porsche?”
“I manage the three girls that live here with me, Mr. Mason. They're dancers and I'm training them to be professional escorts. I used to be an escort until my habits made me unreliable. But I still have some access to clientele, so I'm putting that information to good use.”
“How did you get started?”
“Me and Desireé used to get ourselves invited to all types of parties. Any place we could meet men with money. I met a man at one of those parties named James Martin. He said when I was ready to stop waiting on one of these limp dick old man to give me money and start making some money on my own, to call him. He trained me, just like I'm doing with these girls. I started working for him escorting, and once a month we'd drive to Miami to pick up 2 kilos of cocaine.”
“Was Desireé involved with James Martin, too?”
“No, Desireé never met him,” Porsche said and lit a cigarette. “By the time I hooked up with James, Desireé had married Roland and pretty much stopped hanging out.”
“Who do you think killed her?”
“Like everybody else, I thought Roland did it.”
“Ms. Taylor told me that you hadn't talked to Desireé for a while at the time of her death.”
“I used to smoke a lot of cocaine, and those days I was smoking more. But I've been clean for three hundred and eight days. It was Desireé's death that made me wake up.”
“How was that?”
“When she died, I lost it. I know I was up in this house smoking for eight days straight at least. There were different people here smoking with me and they'd come and go. But somebody was always here smokin' with me the whole time. Shit, I was buying. We'd smoke up what we had and call for more. But this time my guy took his time about bringin it. So while I'm walking around frantic, looking out the window, I started thinking about Desireé and I started crying. Just like that, she was dead. Dead at twenty-seven. And Desireé was so full of life. It made me realize how short life can be. It ain't promised to you. Desireé had everything and now she's dead.”
“Did Desireé ever smoke with you?”
“Never. And I never told her that I did. I didn't want her to know. She woulda been so disappointed in me.”
“How long did you know Desireé?”
“We met my sophomore year at Spellman. Me and Carmen had a class together my freshmen year. She introduced me to Desireé when she came to Spellman that next year. We've been friends ever since. To be honest with you, I was in love with her then.”
“You're a lesbian?”
“No, I'm bi-sexual. I've always known I was bi-sexual, but at the time Desireé was strictly dickly, so I didn't approach her with it. I loved her and was happy just to be around her. I was shocked the first time she came on to me—” Porsche started, but Garrett interrupted her.
“You didn't know she was bi-sexual, too?”
“She wasn't. She told me somebody turned her out.”
“You know who?”
“I think this is a good time for me to say back off. If who turned Desireé becomes important to you, ask me again and I'll tell you. But now I think I should respect the woman's privacy.”
“Fair enough,” Garrett said staring out the sliding door at Misty and Chocolate. “You were saying that—” Garrett turned back to Porsche. “you were shocked the first time she came on to you.”
“I was shocked because after a while, Roland came in the room and watched us making love.”
“He just watched? He didn't join in?”
“Roland was impotent.”
“He never heard of Viagra?” Garrett laughed.
“Roland used to be the Viagra king,” Porsche mused. “Until the doctor told him it was bad for his heart. I forget what she called the condition he has, but he had to stop taking it. After that, Desireé started seeing other men.”
“You three get together often?”
“Every now and then. Roland preferred watching men having sex with her. Since Desireé was always seeing somebody anyway, she'd bring one home so Roland could watch.”
“Do you know if he ever watched her and Rasheed Damali?” Garrett asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you know Rasheed Damali?”
“Yes.”
“How did they meet?”
“I introduced them,” Porsche said quietly.
“How did you know him?”
“He used to work for James Martin sometimes.”
“I thought he was on Desireé's card? What was he doing for Martin?”
“Every once and awhile James would get female clients. Rasheed was his guy.”
“Did Desireé know that?”
“I don't know.”
“So the woman you've been in love with for years is involved with Damali. Why didn't you tell her what he was about?”
“I tried to tell Desireé about Rasheed, but she never wanted to hear it. She was too far gone on him. Desireé thought she was in love with him.”
“You know where he was from?”
“I don't know where he's from, but he came here from Texas.”
“That figures. The car he was driving was stolen from there.”
“No it wasn't.” Porsche insisted.
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me.” When Garrett looked strangely at her, she decided not to wait to be asked. Porsche said, “Rasheed was working as an escort while he was in Texas. He burned out there, the same way I did.”
“How's that?”
“You start showing up late for appointments or missing them all together. Or your performance isn't what it used to be, so the clients stop asking for you. Because al
l you're thinking about is getting through with what you gotta do and get paid so you can get high.”
“So how'd he get the car?”
“One of his clients gave him that car. But when her husband finally missed it, she told him it was stolen.”
“How'd he—find out?” Garrett asked staring out the sliding door at Misty and Chocolate again.
“She called Rasheed and told him. I could ask them to stop if they're distracting you.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. How do you know all this?”
“Rasheed told me.”
“Like you and him were pretty close?”
“We talked.”
“Just talked?”
“We started getting high together,” Porsche said, repositioning herself on the couch. “Rasheed came by here one night looking for Desireé. I was getting high; I asked if he wanted a hit. It was on from there.”
“Did Desireé know that he got high?”
“No.”
“What else did y'all talk about?”
“Just bullshit at first. We didn't do a lot of talking, like I said, I was smoking pretty heavy those days. But this one particular night, I was in the pool waiting on my guy to bring my package and Rasheed came by. He had just left Desireé's house. He told me how much he hated Roland watching. He said it was funny at first, watching Roland play with that limp dick. But now, Roland was getting demanding about it. Telling him how he wanted him to fuck her. Like he was directing a porno flick or something,” Porsche laughed.
“He ever do you like that?”
“No. He would just sit there quietly and he'd never stay long. Like I said he preferred watching men with her.”
“The reason I ask is he may have been filming the whole thing, making his own movies.”
“If he was, I didn't know about it and Desireé never mentioned anything like that.”
“Maybe she didn't know.” Garrett glanced out the door and then back at Porsche. “So now you and Rasheed are getting high together.”
“We were having sex, too. That night he came by and I was in the pool, he got in with me. We were talking, and one thing led to another.”
“I guess Desireé didn't know about that either.”
“Not unless he told her.”
“Excuse me,” Simone said as she came into the living room. “Porsche, do you know if we have any clean towels?”
“Are there any clean towels in the linen closet?” Porsche asked politely.
“No, I already looked,” Simone replied walking closer to the couch.
“Then what does that tell you?”
“That there are no clean towels,” Simone answered quietly as her chin touched her chest.
“Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. And always think before you open your mouth. Knowing what to say and what not to say, will make your company more desirable and therefore requested on a regular basis,” Porsche instructed. Simone left the room and Porsche turned her attention to Garrett. “I'm sorry for the interruption.”
“Okay, so you and him are getting high and having sex. Y'all get together often?”
“Not really.”
“Once a week, twice a week?”
“Yeah, once a week, sometimes twice a week. Sometimes not at all.”
“You always buy?”
“No, most times when he'd come by, he'd set it out for me,” Porsche explained.
“Since you were on it pretty hard, he must have come with a lot.”
“I'd have to kick in sometimes, but most times, he'd come correct.”
“Both y'all buy from the same source?”
Porsche looked at Garrett, deciding whether it was time to say back off again. “No we didn't,” she answered deciding that finding Desireé's killer was more important than protecting her guy’s privacy.
“You know where he got his?”
“James Martin.”
“That's right; you did mention that he was a dealer, too.”
“No, James was a distributor,” Porsche corrected him. “He'd keep some around for personal consumption.”
“How come you didn't get yours from him?”
“I didn't need him knowing how much I was getting high. Even though he wasn't calling me that often, I still called myself working for him.”
“I guess Rasheed didn't care?”
“No, James would front Rasheed against jobs he did for him.”
“I thought you said that Martin didn't get a lot of female clients?”
“He didn't.”
“Then how was Rasheed coming so correct?”
“He told me that he owed James a lot of money. He didn't say how much.”
“When was this?”
“The week before it happened.”
“You know where I can find James Martin?”
“He's dead. About three months ago, he got shot when somebody tried to jack his car. Like I said, Mr. Mason, life is short, and it’s not promised to you.”
Carmen looked at Garrett and then at Marcus and back to Garrett. “You know what I wanna know?” Carmen asked.
“What's that, Carmen?” Garrett asked.
“Why is all this just coming out now?”
“I don't know, Porsche says she never talked to the police,” Garrett answered.
“When you were investigating, why didn't you talk to any of these people?” Carmen wanted to know.
“Because, Carmen, nobody,” Garrett said pointing at Marcus, “told me to talk to any of these people.”
Carmen looked at Marcus, waiting for an answer. Marcus looked at Carmen and then at Garrett. “We're waiting for an answer, Marcus?” Garrett quipped.
“What?” Marcus pleaded.
“Why didn't you tell Garrett to investigate any of this?”
“Carmen, my job was to defend Roland against the prosecution’s case. I didn't have to present the jury of alternative theories of how the crime was committed. They had no case.”
“He's right, Carmen, the police investigated the crime,” Garrett said. “I investigated their case and this is not their case. All these leads came from you Carmen. We never heard of any these people until you came along.”
“And how would we know about them? Roland sure wasn't gonna tell us about any of this. All this does is give him a stronger motive for murder,” Marcus said passionately.
“No it doesn't,” Garrett said as he stood up.
“What?” Carmen said angrily.
“I don't think this makes his motive any stronger. To me, it dilutes it,” Garrett walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of Hennessy.
“How?” Marcus asked. “I'm dying to hear this.”
“Think about it, Marcus. Ferguson had a young beautiful wife; you'll forgive me for saying this, Carmen, but your sister was putting on a freak show for his private entertainment. Why would he kill her? He had what most men only dream of. James Martin was the case they should have been pursuing. Rasheed was working for James Martin doing God knows what. Because if he was fronting him dope against work and he didn't get many female clients, that only leaves men. And on top of that he owed James Martin money. That's where this case is leading,” Garrett said.
“But he's dead now,” Carmen sighed.
“Somebody knows something about him. If he's dead, somebody had to claim the body,” Marcus said to Garrett.
“I'm on it,” he replied. “This is getting to be a whole lot more interesting then my other case.”
“I know somebody who might know something about him,” Carmen said, and both Garrett and Marcus looked at her.
“Who?” Marcus asked.
“A friend of mine.”
“What's your friend’s name?” Marcus said sounding a little jealous.
“Denny.”
“Denny who?”
“Denny Barnes,” Carmen said as Garrett looked on like he was watching a tennis match.
“How would he know about James Martin?”
“De
nny rolls in those circles. He's the one who told me where to find Porsche.”
“How do you know Denny?”
Carmen smiled. “He was my first boyfriend, Marcus.”
“Oh,” Marcus said with a silly look on his face.
“So what's going on here kids?” Garrett asked.
“Nothing,” Carmen said looking at Marcus and smiling.
“Nothing,” Marcus said looking at Carmen and smiling.
“Is there something going on here that I don't know about?” Garrett asked.
“No,” Marcus said looking at Carmen and smiling.
“No,” Carmen said looking at Marcus and smiling.
Garrett looked at Carmen sneaking glances at Marcus, and Marcus sneaking glances at her. “Oh, I know what's going on here, y'all fuckin'. I knew there was something different about the way you came bouncing out of that kitchen.”
Marcus winked at Carmen and she smiled her response.
“Well, I'll let you two get back to what y'all was doing,” Garrett said and got up from the couch. “Marcus can I see you outside for a minute?”
“Sure. I'll be right back, Carmen.”
Marcus followed Garrett out to his truck. When they reached the truck Garrett said, “Get in.” Once they were in the truck. “I just wanted to thank you for sending me out there to see Porsche.”
“Yeah, I think it went pretty well.”
“Brother, you don't know the half of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I left out of few of the more visual details of the conversation.”
“Like what?”
“You remember I said the two girls came in the living room, unplugged the box and when outside?”
“And?”
“Have you seen them?”
“No. What do they look like?”
“Misty is brown skin, a little darker than Carmen. By the way, dog, you banging Carmen?” Marcus smiled. Garrett gave him five. “The other one, Chocolate, she's a beautiful, Jet black sistah. Both of them fine as hell, long pretty legs, perfect asses, and enough titties for a mutha fucka. Misty, she's wearing one of her dancer outfits with spike heels.”
“What'd the outfit look like?”
“It was purple and lacey. You gonna let me tell the story or not?”
