by Julie Smith
“What? Oh, you mean about Hunt. No, that was idle speculation. I was wondering something else. Regarding Rashad.”
“Oh, yeah, Rashad. I feel really bad about what I said to him. I mean, really bad. You have no idea.”
“He liked to take care of women, apparently. Women like Cassie. Maybe like my sister. I’m wondering if he’s with one of them now. You know any of his ex-girlfriends?”
“No. Rashad didn’t talk about his private life.”
“He ever mention a girl named Kerry to you?”
“Kerry? That rings some kind of bell. Somehow or other, I’ve heard that name.”
“Maybe from Cassie? Maybe she knew her.”
“No, not from Cassie. From somebody else. Oh, yeah. I’ve got it. I’ve definitely got it. It wasn’t either one of them—it was Montjoy.”
“Him again. It makes sense, now that you mention it. Wayne Taylor told me Rashad used to, well, the way he put it was ‘clean up Hunt’s messes.’ Montjoy would trample all over them, and Rashad would come along and dress their wounds. He said Kerry was one of the casualties.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s coming back to me. We were at a party, and they served mojitos. Hunt was drinking one, and, just for something to say, I said, ‘I thought you were a bourbon man.’ And he said, ‘I am, but I knew a girl named Kerry once. She liked mojitos. So this one’s for her.’ Like she was dead.”
With my luck, she is, Talba thought. She said, “Damn! I was hoping for a last name.”
His chair scraped on the concrete as he pushed it back. “Let’s go ask Hunt.”
“Forget it. Eddie already asked him. He wouldn’t talk about her.”
“Well, he’ll talk to me about her.” Talba saw that his jaw was set with a determination that wasn’t there before, not even when he seemed in the throes of murderous rage.
And the rage was there, too. It had been crouching like a leopard, under the surface, waiting for any excuse to spring. “Austin, we can’t just…”
He interrupted her. “I can.” He left her sitting at the table and strode into the house.
It happened so fast it took her a moment to realize what was really going on. By the time she’d followed, he’d already left through the front door and mounted his Harley. “Hey, listen,” she called, as the great machine kicked into action, signaled by a roar that drowned her out. Austin waved good-bye.
“Shit!” she said to no one in particular, and went back in to get her car keys, reaching for her cell phone as she walked. She punched in Angela’s number.
“Angie? Talba. I’ve got an emergency. How fast can you be at Hunt Montjoy’s house?”
“That,” the lawyer replied, “would depend on where Hunt Montjoy lives.”
“Damn.” Talba was aware they were losing precious seconds. “Hang on, let me look it up.”
While she fumbled with the phonebook, Angie said, “What’s the emergency?”
“That ape Austin’s just gone over there to beat the truth out of Montjoy. I’ve got a feeling you’re the only person who can calm him down.”
“I’m on my way. Call me back with the address. Just give me a neighborhood.”
“Garden District. Really near here, unfortunately—I’m at Allyson’s.”
The line went dead, Talba found the address, ran for her own car, and relayed the address en route. It was only a few blocks away.
When she arrived, she saw the hog in the driveway, but no sign of a person. Maybe Austin and Hunt had decided to have a nice cup of tea instead of busting each other up. She parked, not sure what to do next—wait for Angie, probably. So she was sitting in her car when the Montjoy door opened to discharge two extremely red-faced, shouting men, followed by Lynne with a broom, literally sweeping them out, which she achieved by holding the broom upside down and smacking them about the shoulders. Why in hell, Talba thought, does she stay married to that animal?
The two amateur pugilists squared off in the gorgeous garden, dukes up, breath ragged, eyes like wolves: But it was obvious even to Talba that Hunt had absolutely no chance against Austin, who was younger, stronger, bigger, and altogether more sober. Maybe, she thought, Lynne had shooed them out because she smelled freedom.
Like to do it for you, sweetheart, Talba thought, but I don’t need the karma.
She left the car and walked over to the little fence around the yard. At first, the men just circled one another, Hunt’s face getting redder and redder, Austin’s breathing perceptibly slowing. He was visibly gathering his strength. In a few moments, if Angie didn’t get here, there was going to be mayhem.
She saw Austin’s lips move, but she couldn’t make out what he said. But Hunt’s reply was completely audible: “Get off my property, you piece of shit.”
Austin swung at him, but he ducked. Montjoy was sweating. Probably terrified, Talba thought. Maybe this isn’t all bad.
She might have really enjoyed herself if the two of them had merely continued dancing, Austin growing increasingly menacing, Hunt cringing more by the second. But Austin swung again, this time catching Hunt on the right jaw, knocking his head back so hard Talba heard his teeth click together.
It had just gotten very unfunny.
When Austin spoke again, she heard him clearly. “Who’s Kerry?”
Hunt replied in a growl. “You ever mention that name again, I swear to God I’ll break every bone in your body.”
“How you gonna do that, you tub of lard?” Austin punched him in the gut. Then he cuffed him lightly about the face, with first one fist, then the other. Hunt’s head bobbled like a puppet’s. Talba yelled, “Austin, for God’s sake, leave him alone.”
Austin responded by bending over and butting his head brutally into Hunt’s squishy midsection. The poet fell over backward; Austin simply kicked out his legs and fell gracefully on top of him, grabbing his wrists and holding them with one hand. He doubled up the other fist and held it in the older man’s face. “Who the fuck is fucking Kerry?”
Hunt spat at him, catching him on the nose. Talba had to give him points for heart, even if he wasn’t much of a fighter. Reluctantly, she reached for her phone to dial 911, thinking she’d put it off far too long, and wondered vaguely what Lynne was doing while her husband was being pounded to powder. Rejoicing, probably.
Just as she was about to dial, Angie’s car descended like a spaceship and landed with a squeal of brakes. The lawyer leaped out the door, the ignition still on, waving her cell phone and shouting, “Austin Edwards, you get off of that man before I call the cops and get your ass thrown in jail and let them throw away the key.”
Still holding Hunt’s wrists, Austin twisted his head to look at her. “Hey, Ange. How you doing, babe?” he said, almost happily, and turned back around to Hunt. “Give it up or I’ll kill you in front of two women.”
Hunt seemed suddenly a lot calmer now that the cavalry had arrived. “Just for the record, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Okay, this is it,” Angie yelled. “I’m pressing the button.”
With one athletic pop of his body, Austin sprang to a standing position, and reached down a hand to help Hunt. “Nice match, old buddy.”
To Talba’s utter amazement, Hunt took the hand, smiled, and struggled to his feet. “You know your way around the ring, kid.”
“Years of Saturday nights in bars.”
Hunt made a fist again, and cuffed Austin on the shoulder. “Next time I ream your thirty-year-old ass.”
Austin held out his hand. “Call me any time you want a rematch.”
Hunt took the hand and shook it.
Talba looked on in something resembling shock.
Hunt coaxed his battered face into a smile. “So what’s with this Kerry chick? Why are you looking for her?”
“We know you know her, Montjoy.” Austin spoke so softly Talba could barely hear, but she had no trouble detecting the menace in his voice.
“Seriously—you must have a good reason for coming over
here and assaulting me in my own home.”
Figuring they could go in circles for hours, Talba interrupted. “We think Rashad might be with her.”
How he mustered it, Talba would never know, but at that moment, Hunt let loose with a big old roar of a laugh. “Hey, Baroness, you and Eddie Eight-Inch ain’t even found Rashad yet? Swear to God, it’s the Keystone Dicks. Know where I’d look if I was you?”
Talba barely heard him. She was thinking, Eddie Eight-Inch?
“I’d look right in my own backyard. Y’all know what Robert Johnson used to do whenever he came into a town?”
Talba searched her memory—Robert Johnson, Robert Johnson—yes! The early Delta blues man, the one who’d supposedly been poisoned.
“He’d find himself the ugliest bitch on the street and shack up with her. Figured she’d do any goddamn thing for him.” Nobody said anything for a minute, having not a clue where Montjoy was going with this. “Rashad’s probably pullin’ a Robert Johnson. Check out your sister, Baroness—ugliest bitch I’ve seen on the street.”
Austin tensed like a tiger, but Angie sprang before he did. She had let herself quietly in the gate, and she now launched herself at Austin, probably saving Hunt Montjoy’s life. The rage in Austin’s face had multiplied exponentially, and it hadn’t been pretty before.
But it disappeared as suddenly as it had gathered. He put an arm around his lawyer to keep his balance. “Hello there,” he said, his face about two inches from hers. “Have you dreamed of this moment as long as I have?”
Angrily, she wriggled away, pivoted, and called over her shoulder, “See you in court, Edwards.”
He trotted after her. “Hey, what’s that mean? You turning me in for fighting or something?”
“I don’t have to. With that temper of yours, one day you’re going to need a lawyer the worst kind of way.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. Tell you what, I’ll go to Anger Management.”
“ ’Bye, Austin.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hunt Montjoy was a loathsome human being, but his thoroughly disgusting remark smacked Talba in the face like a pie—or maybe a lightning bolt. Vivid as a film, she saw a pattern she couldn’t believe she’d missed—Janessa’s changed behavior. Her sister had been way too calm lately—not nearly as concerned about Rashad as she had the first few days. Yesterday, when they’d had lunch with her, she’d barely asked about him. And, before they sprang the prints on her, she’d actually been happy. There could be only one reason for that. She knew more than they did, and what she knew was fine with her. Much as Talba hated to admit it, Hunt was probably right.
As soon as she’d said good-bye to Angie, Talba drove straight to Mystery Street, fueled by a fury she hadn’t felt in a long time. She shot up the stairs to Janessa’s apartment and began banging on the door and shouting. “Janessa! Open up or I swear I’m calling the police!”
No one answered.
She banged some more, yelling louder if that was possible, not caring who heard, just hoping Janessa did.
Still no answer.
She took out her cell phone and yelled again. “I’ve got nine-one-one on auto-dial and I’m punching it now.”
The door flew open. A flustered Janessa stood at the entrance. “What’s up, goddammit? Whatcha mean, comin’ here like this?”
Talba spoke quietly, trying to get back in control. “Let me in, Janessa.”
“Why the hell should I let you in?”
“Because you don’t want me calling the police on Rashad. I know he’s here.”
“Ya crazy. Go on and call ’em. He ain’ here.”
“Show me.”
That threw her for a loop. “Whaddaya mean, show ya?”
“Let me in to search the place.” Even as she said it, she knew it didn’t mean anything even if Rashad wasn’t there. He could be coming and going, just using the place to sleep.
But Janessa stood firm. “I ain’ lettin’ nobody in.” Her lip stuck out like a kid’s. She was putting up a brave front, but Talba had never seen her so upset, not even at Allyson’s the rainy morning when she’d found a body.
And then a hand appeared on her shoulder. Talba looked up to see Rashad standing behind her. He said, “Janessa, we gotta do it.” And Janessa started crying, more from the strain of keeping up the front, Talba sensed, than from defeat. She pivoted and flung her arms around Rashad, who held and patted her, just as he must have soothed a dozen young women before her. “It’s all right, honey, you did the best you could. Everything’s all right now.”
Talba was still fuming. “Can I come in, please?”
Rashad eased Janessa aside so that Talba could enter. The first thing she noticed was that the room was surprisingly neat, partly because there was so little in it—a futon and a sort of black-painted wide wooden bench that served as a makeshift coffee table, a TV that sat on the floor, a few oversized pillows, plastic cartons containing clothes, a thrift store lamp or two—that was about it. A single book lay facedown and open on the coffee table—a copy of The Great Gatsby. Behind the main room was a little kitchen, and on a counter were two salad plates covered with crumbs, which had probably recently held sandwiches, and two Coke cans. “Very nice, Janessa,” she said, glad her sister wasn’t a slob on top of everything else. Also glad she saw no drug paraphernalia, smelled no pot smoke. She fixed Rashad with as mean a frown as she could muster. “You’re in trouble, my man.”
“I know,” he said, and she saw that he had a quiet dignity. “I was going to call you today, anyhow.”
Janessa broke away from the clinch. “Why you didn’t tell me that? Here I am, doin’ everything I can to keep the po-lice outta here, and you was gon’ call ’em? Jus’ like that?”
“I wasn’t going to call the cops. I was going to call Talba. My aunt talked me into it.”
Janessa sniffed. “Same thing,” which set Talba off again.
“Janessa, do you have the tiniest understanding what three full-time professionals, two of whom don’t even know you, have been doing for you for a week? You asked us to find Rashad, we’ve been chasing our tails all over hell and gone trying to find him, neglecting our other work, losing hundreds and hundreds of dollars, and he’s been here with you all this time, you little bitch! I swear to God, I’m gonna wring your neck.” She realized she’d almost said “your fat neck,” and stopped, startled that she’d been able to control herself as far as she had. “Bitch” could be forgiven, but “fat” could not.
The look of horror on Janessa’s face told her for the first time that no, the girl really had had no idea what kind of sacrifices they’d made for her, what her deceit had meant to anyone other than herself. She’d caught herself a handsome guy and shacked up with him and that was probably all she’d been aware was happening that week. “Oh, my God!” Janessa fell apart again. “Oh my God, what have I done? I thought I was protectin’ him—I knew I done wrong, comin’ to ya in the first place—I tried to tell ya, but ya just wouldn’t be fired!”
“Oh, great it’s my fault.” Talba was so thoroughly pissed she was thinking again of calling the police.
Rashad sat down on the futon, his head in his hands. Talba fumed quietly, trying to get up another head of steam to tell him off, too. But after a moment he raised his face and said, “This is my fault Talba, I’m sorry. I should have never got Janessa into this. But could I tell you one thing up front? Just one thing?”
“This better be good.”
“I didn’t kill anybody. I loved those women. Both of ’em. They were two of the best friends I ever had. I asked Janessa to help me, just till I could find out what happened…”
Talba felt her anger rising again. “Are you telling me you’ve been playing detective? With two full-time professional PI’s and a lawyer working on this, you’ve been running around like the Hardy Boys?”
“Hardy Boys! That’s cold. More like Morgan Freeman, you know, in that movie where—”
Talba couldn’t stan
d to listen to it. “You two are children!”
Rashad stood, apparently thinking height might reinforce his adult status. “I know how serious this thing is. They took a shot at me, didn’t they?”
Talba remembered the bloody shirt. “I found your shirt. But you don’t look to me like somebody who’s been shot.”
For a moment, he looked puzzled, and then he showed her a scrape on his arm. “Oh, I know what you’re talkin’ about. They didn’t get me, but I got hurt runnin’ away. Went back and got my backpack, but I sure couldn’t stay at Celeste after that.”
“Who was it, Rashad?”
He shook his head. “Couldn’t see. It was night.” He looked at his injured arm. “That’s how come I fell.”
Talba was starting to get over her anger. “Okay, let’s move on. We’re about to have a meeting with Eddie and Angie. Are you two going to go get in that car with me, or am I calling the po-lice?”
Janessa looked at Rashad, who nodded. “We’re coming.” The girl was still weeping quietly. It was amazing how thoroughly she seemed under Rashad’s spell. Talba hoped to God he hadn’t killed two women.
“Just a minute. Let me call Eddie.” Turning on her cell phone, she saw that she had a message from him. Not bothering to listen to it, she auto-dialed the office. “EdDEE, guess who I’m bringin’ in?”
He sighed. “Gotta be Rashad. I don’t know how the hell ya got him, Ms. Wallis, but I got his aunt right here in this office, saying he wants to see ya.”
“Oh, really?” So he hadn’t lied when he said he was going to call her. “Well, he’s seeing me. And I’m about to bring him over to see you. Can you keep her there? And let’s get Angie in on this.”
“If she ain’t shacked up with Evel Knievel.”
“I think she’s over that for a while. And thereon hangs a tale.” She hung up in time to see Rashad stuffing something into his backpack. “Hey! That’s not a gun, is it?”
Rashad smiled. “No. It’s not a gun.”
“Okay, then, everybody ready? By the way, Rashad, your aunt’s with Eddie.”
He seemed to brighten. “For real? I’m really going to see my aunt?”
