by Emery, Lynn
“This better be the delivery man bringing food for the kitchen. Comin’ here at…” Jazz broke off and glanced at the digital clock on her wall. “Damn, it’s eight o’clock.”
MiMi Landry mugged at Jazz from behind large designer sunglasses at the peephole. “ When Jazz yanked open the door, she gave her an air kiss as she breezed past to cross the open floor plan to the kitchen.“I brought breakfast, so don’t shoot me.” I’ll make some fresh coffee.”
“I had breakfast, and have you ever heard of calling people before poppin’ up at their house?” Jazz slammed her door hard.
“Breakfast is not three cups of coffee and a cig,” MiMi said. She looked around at the room. “I kinda like it. But don’t you think spice orange, tan, and brown are more masculine colors?”
“I think you should mind your own business. Please don’t come up in here telling me how to live,” Jazz shot back. Despite her smart comebacks, she opened the large paper bag. The smell of sausages floated up and Jazz breathed in.
“Uh-huh, I knew you’d dig in once you got a whiff. I got it at Mama Blue’s Kitchen on N. 22nd Street.” MiMi’s voice echoed as she stuck her head into a cabinet to reach dishes.
“You went deep in the hood? Well cut off my legs and call me Shorty,” Jazz joked.
“Hey, I figured you’d want some home cooking like you’re used to over in this part of town,” MiMi replied.
“With your snobbish self. I’ve eaten in fancy restaurants just like you, for your damn information.”
MiMi eyed the plates and cups. Then she went to the sink and washed them. “You got dust on these things like you never use them.”
“I don’t need plates to eat take out from those handy containers they give you. Or I grab something from the kitchen downstairs. Willa’s Aunt Beryl got me those fru-fru plates with flowers all over ‘em anyway,” Jazz said with a snort.
“They consider you family. That’s why. We’re all family in fact. Look how they’ve adopted Sage and me, “Mimi replied.
Jazz sat on a barstool at her breakfast counter separating the living room from the kitchen. She watched as MiMi bustled around. “Look at you all domesticated and shit,” Jazz quipped.
“With a baby I had to learn some domestic skills, but trust me, I’m no little homemaker yet. Girl, between the baby and working, I’m too tired for that mess. I just wish I could hire a housekeeper. Money is tight.” MiMi removed the small sausage links and eggs and put them on a large plate. Then she put it in the microwave oven, turned to Jazz, and gave a dramatic sigh.
Jazz raised an eyebrow. “So what happened to what’s his name, that rich boyfriend you were grooming to support you in style?”
Just then, the microwave timer bell dinged. MiMi busied herself with the plates. She fussed over pouring the coffee. “Landon Connor Matthews, III. You know, I’m not sure he’s father material. Here, have these delicious biscuits.”
“Thanks,” Jazz said and eyed her.
“Hmm, these are so, so good. I’m going to check out their donuts for our next office meeting.” MiMi gave her lips a dainty dab after chewing a tiny portion of sausage. “I stick to vegetarian dishes. My favorite health food grocery store has veggie patties on low glycemic bread. But a treat every now and then won’t hurt.”
“Don’t bring that mess up in here,” Jazz retorted. Then she sipped coffee as she studied MiMi. “So Mr. Big Stuff, Landon, dumped you, huh?”
“We’re taking a break, you know, to examine our relationship,” MiMi said. She sniffed. “It was my suggestion.”
“Drop the act. For months it’s been ‘Landon says this’ and ‘Landon does that’. You were looking at China and silverware designs. What happened?” Jazz stared at MiMi until she squirmed on the barstool.
“I told him we needed to take our relationship to the next level. Sage had gotten used to him being around, and…”
“You’d been freakin’ him long enough so he needed to do the right thing,” Jazz cut in.
MiMi winced. “Don’t be crude.”
Jazz smothered a smirk. “Sorry, tell it your way.”
MiMi brushed her long hair back. “I opened myself up to that man for months. I cooked meals for him, even introduced him to my family a couple of weeks ago.”
“Wow, serious stuff.” Jazz thought, no wonder the guy started backing off.
“Okay, so maybe he wasn’t quite ready for the whole ‘meet the family’ scene. He kept giving excuses why I couldn’t meet his family. You’re saying I pushed too fast?” MiMi gulped down coffee, the food on her plate forgotten.
“Well it’s been almost four months and—”
“Four months and two weeks,” MiMi put in. She broke off a corner of a biscuit but only toyed with it.
Jazz raised an eyebrow. “All righty then. It’s not like you were being too intense about it, huh?” “Okay, okay. You’re saying I was too pushy. Hell, I’m not getting any younger and I’ve got expenses. Sage needs a private school. She’s gifted, I can tell already,” MiMi blurted out.
“Y’all had an argument and you told him that?” Jazz barked a laugh. “No wonder he’s gone.”
“I’m not stupid. I told him we I’d be the perfect wife to help build his business. My mother trained my sister and me to be assets to the right kind of husband.” MiMi lifted her chin and sat straight.
Jazz started to be blunt and say Mrs. Landry raised her girls to be gold diggers, but decided against it. Instead she cleared her throat and said, “I’m guessing he didn’t take the ‘put a ring on it’ speech very well.”
MiMi glowered as though Landon stood across from them in the living room. “He’d be lucky to have me, the stumpy little jerk.”
“Well that plan is a wrap. What’s your back-up?”
“Landon was my back-up after Mario Deschamps turned out to be a creep. Remind me not to listen to my family again about who to date,” MiMi retorted. She dropped her head. “I’m tired of being poor.”
Jazz gave a grunt. She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee, dumped five teaspoons of sugar into the cup, and sat down again. “Trust me, I’ve been poor and you ain’t even close.”
“I’m poor. I’ve been wearing the same spring clothes for the last two years. Look at these shoes, just look. Gino Valachi pumps from three years ago,” MiMi whined. “I can’t take Sage to her interview dressed last year’s fashions.”
“Damn, so you’re so desperate you gonna put the baby to work?” Jazz clapped a hand to her forehead in mock horror. “Now that’s bad.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have her on the list for an exclusive day school, Magnolia Woods Academy. People practically sell their homes just to get the tuition for that place. They expect a certain kind of background and family. We both have to attend an interview as the final step in the selection process.” MiMi tapped a lacquered fingernail on the faux marble countertop as she spoke.
“Speaking of ridiculous,” Jazz mumbled as she gulped more coffee.
“Hey, getting into the right kindergarten means getting into the right private schools on up to college. My Sage is going to have the best, damn it.”
“Well thank you for the latest episode of As-The-Drama-Queen-Turns, but I’ve got things to do before the club opens.” Jazz stood and drained the last coffee from her cup. “Thanks for the breakfast, and have a great day.”
MiMi grabbed the cup from Jazz’s hand and pulled her back down on the stool. “Which brings me to why we need to find that money.”
“What money?” Jazz pulled away.
“Don’t play with me, Jazz. You know what money I’m talking about. Before Jack was murdered, he hid money overseas. I’ll bet he used connections Filipe had to launder his drug money,” MiMi said, eyes shining at the thought of tracking down a boatload of cash.
“In case you forgot, I broke up with Filipe when he went to prison. Not to mention I helped put him away. So before you even ask, hell no. I’m not going to visit him and ask about money.�
� Jazz leaned in and stabbed a forefinger at MiMi’s nose to punctuate her last statement.
“Ahem, so you don’t think trying to make up with him would…”
“You’re bat-shit crazy, MiMi, you know that?” Jazz shot back.
“Yeah, yeah… I was just thinking out loud for a minute. Don’t get all hostile,” MiMi snapped.
“I have to get to work. Lock my door on your way out,” Jazz said.
“Wait, now that you mention the club, I saw those articles in the newspaper. Not good for business.” MiMi raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“What articles in the newspaper?”
“See, this is why you need to get up early and pay attention to the news.”
MiMi reached into her leather hobo purse and pulled out a copy the Baton Rouge Daily News and handed it to Jazz. The paper was already folded to the “Crime Beat” section. One short article talked about the mayor’s efforts to clean up neighborhoods. Bars and smoke shops were targeted for closure, said to be “ground zero for unsavory activities”. Candy Girls was given as an example, with mention of frequent complaints from law-abiding neighbors of loud noise and rowdy behavior.
“Damn,” Jazz said and clenched her teeth.
“Read the other one.” MiMi pointed to another article.
“Police answered a call of shots fired to find a man dead in a house on Dalton Ave. They are searching for Cleavon Bennett and Kyeisha Lathers in connection with the murder. Both have a connection to the nightclub Candy Girls where several gang members are known to hang out.” Jazz let out a red hot string of expletives. She worked to calm her breathing and read on.
“Uh-huh, Candy Girls mentioned twice in connection to crimes. Not good.” MiMi sipped coffee daintily.
“Damn,” Jazz repeated with more force. She threw the newspaper across the room.
“We both need cash, sweetie. Unless you have a pot of money to open another place once the mayor and his clean-up-Baton Rouge folks close down Candy Girls.” MiMi lifted a shoulder when Jazz glared at her. “I’m just sayin’.”
“They’re a long way from closing my business, and if they try…” Jazz huffed out several jagged breaths.
“I hear you, but the thing is we all need money. Willa does, too, if she stops being so hard-headed and admit it. Poor Mikayla is in a public school, “
“Which is not the end of the world.”
“Crown Protection is operating on a thin margin, very thin. They need to upgrade their computer systems to keep pace with the competition,” MiMi said.
She spoke with more authority about the security business than Jazz knew she had. Jazz squinted at her. “You got that from Cedric.”
“My point is we’re owed a substantial amount of money that’s sitting somewhere in a foreign country. That’s just un-American,” MiMi said and crossed her arms.
“So Willa is on board with your plan to find the money her late husband hid away?”
“Jack was Willa’s soon-to-be ex-husband, and my fiancé let me remind you. And the father of my child. Which brings up another point, Jack would want his children to be taken care of. You know he loved Mikayla and thought of Anthony as his son.” MiMi pressed home her points.
Anthony was almost five years old when Willa and Jack married. They developed a close bond because Anthony’s biological father faded from the picture. Jazz hadn’t cared for Jack, with his silky upper-class charm and snooty family. Still he’d been an attentive father to both kids, and hadn’t treated Anthony differently after Mikayla was born.
“I notice you didn’t answer my question. Tell me about the conversation you had with Willa.” Jazz sat back to wait for the answer she had already guessed.
MiMi cleared her throat. Then jumped off the stool and started cleaning up the remains of breakfast. She spoke with her back to Jazz as she washed the two plates. “How do you function without a dishwasher, girl? I haven’t had a chance to call her. I’ve been so busy with work and all, but she’ll benefit just like us.”
“In other words, you’re scared she’s going to refuse. As I recall, she’s still the executor of Jack’s estate.”
MiMi swiped the plates dry with angry motions. “You know how she is! Sometimes I could just chew nails in frustration at the way that woman… I know she’s your sister, but—”
Jazz waved a hand. “Oh you don’t have to hold back with me. We’ve gone more rounds than a couple of professional wrestlers.”
“Willa has to send a request as executor to the bank Jack used, and they’ll help us track the wire transfers.” MiMi huffed and rinsed out the coffee cups.
“But she won’t,” Jazz prompted.
MiMi assumed a sour face and mimicked Willa’s voice. “We don’t have any proof there was money, much less where it went. Jack traveled to three foreign countries in the two years before he was murdered.”
“There it is then. Nothing we can do,” Jazz replied dryly. She looked at the newspaper again and frowned. “Assholes.”
“Look, we need to show Willa she’s writing off a big chunk of money. We could be talking about close to a million dollars.” MiMi marched back to sit across from Jazz again. “Filipe owes you, too. We might get a line on his stash since he was in business with Jack and Ryan. I’ve got a plan.”
“I better get some more caffeine.” Jazz got up and poured more coffee into one of the clean cups. She turned back to face MiMi, leaning against the counter. “Okay, go.”
“These two drug dealers in the article, they both ran with Filipe’s guys. Yes, they were getting their supplies from Filipe. Since you’re friends with his girlfriend you can find out more.””
“I sure as hell don’t get why everybody thinks we’re friends. Let me throw a big load of cold water on your scheme. The last person she’ll want to help is me. I hardly know Cleavon, and that’s just fine since he’s on the run, and I don’t need trouble with the cops. I’m lucky those gangstas that hung with Filipe ain’t looking to put me in a body bag. Enough reasons for you?” Jazz cocked an eyebrow at MiMi. Then she frowned. “How do you know all this anyway?”
“Cedric and I got to talking while I was waiting for your stubborn sister to make time for me Friday. Girl, Willa had me out in the lobby for almost an hour. Can you believe it? We’re family,” MiMi complained. “I’m like an aunt, no wait make that step-mother, to Anthony and Mikayla.”
“Riiight,” Jazz drawled as she peered over her cup. Only MiMi would look over the fact that she’d been sleeping with Willa’s husband before the divorce was quite final, and became his “Baby mama”.
“On the bright side though, I had time to chat up Cedric. You think they’ve slept together yet? Dang, Willa must have ice in her panties if she can be around that fine man every day and…”
“Will you get back to the subject of tracking down a big load of money?” Jazz cut in.
“Oh, yeah. We’ll talk about those two later,” MiMi replied and went on without missing a beat. “Anyway, I told them my friend Jason says the mayor’s office is on a big push to clean up bad neighborhoods. Jason works in the city services division, and he said Candy Girls is one place they’ve gotten complaints about. He remembered it being mentioned after we cracked Jack’s murder investigation.”
Jazz laughed. “We?”
MiMi ignored the dig. “So I mentioned it to Cedric, you know giving him some inside gossip. That’s when he told me that those two drug dealers used to do business with Filipe. Somebody has taken over being the main supplier since Filipe went to prison. Cedric has his sources. Did you know?”
“As a matter of fact I’ve got sources myself,” Jazz tossed back.
“Reach out to Kyeisha through mutual acquaintances and offer help. She might come to you and then you can get a bit more information.” MiMi nodded like a bobble-head doll.
“Kyeisha went to work in Lorraine’s little dive on Forty-Sixth Street after she tried to stab me in the back. She’s evil and not too bright, but she’s got sense eno
ugh to stay outta my way.” Jazz slid from the stool and poured out the now cold coffee left in her cup.
MiMi followed by washing it out, and then washing the coffee pot. “. Now she’s in a tight spot she might need you. What did you tell me about Lorraine? She’s not one for loyalty. Now that Kyeisha is in trouble, Lorraine won’t help, right?”
Jazz looked at the clock and saw it was closing in on nine thirty. “I’ve got to get ready to open.”
“But wait a minute,” MiMi protested, wiping her hands dry on a dish towel.
“Monday through Wednesday we depend on the lunch crowd to make money. My cooks should be coming in another thirty minutes.” Jazz’s cell phone played a popular tune at that moment. She found it on the sofa and hit the speaker.
“Morning’ boss lady! I’m here. Got Pizzolato Bros. delivering some food,” Rochelle said.
“I’m coming down to let you in.” Jazz ended the call and walked to her bedroom down a short hallway. “I don’t have time to be playing around with you.”
MiMi followed her. “ Trust me, I’m serious.”
“Uh-huh.” Jazz grabbed a pair of leggings draped over a chair and pulled them on. Then she dropped the robe, grabbed a t-shirt from her closet and pulled it over her head. She smoothed out the reddish blonde weave pulled into a long pony-tail. She spun to face MiMi waving a forefinger in the air. “Look, give up on that money. I’m staying away from trouble. That’s it. Now will you get outta my way? Runnin’ in my bedroom like you live here or something.”
MiMi jumped out of her path when Jazz marched out of the bedroom. Then she trailed after Jazz still making her case. “We can’t just wave bye-bye to that kind of money. It belongs to me… us I mean.”
“Uh-huh. Go to work selling lipsticks and let me get back to my grind,” Jazz said over her shoulder without looking back. MiMi followed out, waiting patiently as Jazz locked her door and went down the stairs.
“I’m the regional cosmetics and accessories buyer. I supervise one employee, thank God, so I don’t have to travel as much,” MiMi snapped. She chattered on.
“Yeah, whateva,” Jazz said. She jingled the keys as a greeting to Rochelle and opened the door, still tuning out MiMi’s litany of complaints. “Hey Ro-Ro.”
