by Emery, Lynn
“Nice hell! I came by here to talk and this crazy…”
Jazz stood back once Kyeisha’s wrists were bound behind her. She hooked a hand under one arm while Byron grabbed the other. They lifted Kyeisha to a standing position and marched her to the chair. Before she realized what was happening, Byron had tied one of her ankles to a chair leg. Kyeisha kicked out at him. Jazz slapped her hard until her head bounced.
“Bitch, you gonna be so sorry,” Kyeisha shouted.
“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Jazz leaned down and spoke close into her ear. “You want more of that, keep kicking.”
Kyeisha glared at her, but kept her leg still as Byron secured it. “This ain’t even called for, Jazz.”
“I’ll check in with you once I’m downstairs,” Byron said. He left with one last scowl at Kyeisha.
Jazz wiped the sweat from her forehead and fanned herself. The ringing in her ears from the gunshots made her feel disoriented. Still she forced herself to move around. Kyeisha’s furious gaze followed Jazz’s movements around the apartment. Jazz checked all the windows to make sure they were locked. She made sure Kyeisha could not move, then Jazz went into the bathroom. She leaned against the sink, a wet towel pressed against her throat. When Jazz went back to the living room, Kyeisha blinked at her. She sat still but her gaze darted around as though searching for a way out. Jazz got a matching chair from the table. Before she sat down, she got two bottles of water from her refrigerator. Twenty minutes had ticked by. Jazz’s nerves and hands were less shaky. She still felt like she had cotton balls stuffed in her ears. Jazz studied Kyeisha for another ten minutes as she sipped water. Then she uncapped the second bottle and extended it.
“Go on. I’m not trying to poison you, fool. I broke the seal,” Jazz said mildly. She let Kyeisha down a third of the half-pint then put the bottle down. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“You came to talk, so talk,” Jazz said.
She talked alright. A stream of curse words came out like hot lava from a volcano. Kyeisha used up her store of profanity to describe Jazz, and then started inventing new words. Eventually she ran down like a doll whose battery had run low. She puffed out short breaths.
“Now that you got that out your system, let’s chat. I’m assuming Cleavon is close by, or was. If I know your taste in men, I’ll bet he took off faster than the bullet from that first shot,” Jazz said and grunted a laugh.
“You don’t know shit about him. He gonna bust in here any second and—” Kyeisha bit off the words when Jazz lifted the two way radio.
“Hey Byron, get some of your boys to sweep the alleys and side streets. Cleavon might be nearby,” Jazz said when he answered. His voice came through saying he would. Jazz hit the button breaking the transmission. “Thanks for being so helpful.”
“Fuck you,” Kyeisha spat.
“Tsk, tsk. You came to me for information or you thought I had something you needed. Such language, pointing a gun at me and insults. I’m not feeling real sociable toward you or your man right now.” Jazz lounged against the back of the chair, waiting. She sipped more water.
Kyeisha seemed to mentally weight her options. Then she hissed out a slow breath. “Okay, look, I didn’t come to you right. I had the gun cuz we don’t know who’s for us or who’s ready to shoot us and claim the reward. And I didn’t point it at you. You didn’t have to freak out and shit.”
“Uh-huh. Skip to the point of this little visit,” Jazz replied. Kyeisha scowled in silence. “I could call the cops.”
Kyeisha smiled slyly. “You won’t do that. The city wants to shut you down. Oh yeah, I been watchin’ the news. That detective came over here, too.”
Jazz decided not to mention that Kyeisha was filling her in on useful information. So Cleavon had one of his people watching Candy Girls. She would let her keep talking. The reason might come out soon enough.
“I could earn brownie points turning you in. Show the mayor I’m a good citizen and shit,” Jazz replied in a tone as cool as the April evening outside.
“Damn.” Kyeisha licked her lips. “We can help each other. Filipe’s old gang want some money they think he owes them. They don’t get it from him, they might come looking for you.”
“Even locked up they’d be smart not to screw with Filipe. He’s got more first, second, and third cousins in gangs than I’ve got hairs in my weave. Girl, you better warn Cleavon not to stir up that nest of avispas,” Jazz replied.
“Nest of what?” Kyeisha frowned at her.
“Spanish for wasps,” Jazz said with a wave of her hand.
“Oh. Cleavon ain’t tryin’ to say it’s you. He don’t know Filipe trusted you that close, and I haven’t told nobody, not even Cleavon… yet.” Kyeisha wore a sly expression again.
Jazz planted her elbows on both knees. She rolled the plastic water bottle between her hands. “Go on.”
“Me and you could split the cash, sell the drugs, and keep the money.”
“What about your true love Cleavon? Don’t tell me you’d leave him out of our big payday.” Jazz said dryly.
“Well you know how it goes. Besides, he’s slapped me around one too many times. I was just shootin’ bullshit a minute ago. He don’t know I’m here, and I don’t have to tell him,” Kyeisha replied.
“So you were lying about Cleavon being close by; and, you didn’t tell anybody about me knowing where Filipe hid his stuff?” Jazz said.
“Just between you and me, girl. Your boys will tell you nobody is out there watchin’.” Kyeisha smiled.
Jazz nodded and smiled back at her. “I gotcha. So if I kill you now, and keep all the money for me, I’m safe.”
“Lorraine knows,” Kyeisha blurted out, spit flying everywhere. Her eyes went wide as dinner plates.
“Humph, you ain’t as dumb as I thought,” Jazz murmured and sat back again.
Chapter 6
For the entire weekend Jazz went on with business as usual. She waited until Sunday evening to arrange a meet up with Willa and MiMi. Jazz got a headache with both women chattering at top speed on a three way call. Willa had agreed after an intense debate. On the other hand, MiMi squealed with delight at the suggestion. Willa insisted she wasn’t going to spend any time during regular business hours discussing “dumb schemes to get non-existent drug money”. The meeting was set for Monday evening. MiMi volunteered to play hostess. When Jazz texted Willa to let her know, the reply text was a curt, “OMG here we go.”
Since Mondays were the slowest day at the club, Jazz left Byron in charge. He’d earned her trust, he had good sense, and he could stand up to Tyretta. Most of the money came from lunch and dinner takeout orders anyway.
By seven o’clock, Jazz sat in was at MiMi’s. They looked at each other across the totally not child friendly glass top table in MiMi’s breakfast nook. Jazz would have loved a smoke, but wouldn’t only because of the baby. Sage sat in her lap sucking on a pacifier looking at the adults with interest. She seemed to know a show was about to start. It did.
“You drugged her?” Willa jumped to her feet. “See this is why I didn’t want to get hooked up with you two.”
“It was just one of those over the counter cold pills, and only a couple or three capsules. Kyeisha slept like a baby, didn’t she Sagey-boo?” Jazz gave the eighteen month old a gentle pinch on her plump cheek. Sage giggled as if she got the joke on Kyeisha.
“Jazz…” Willa hissed out air like a hot air balloon losing inflation. She waved both hands as though at a loss for more words.
“That was kind of risky, girl,” MiMi ventured. “I mean, what if she was allergic or something?”
“Well she ain’t. Byron’s pals say she woke up with nothing more than a stiff neck,” Jazz said with a grin. “I’m just sorry I wasn’t inside Lorraine’s dump to watch both their expressions.”
“How in the world did you get her there?” Willa said, her arms doing more dramatic arcs as she spoke.
“A wheelchair, one of my
customers was getting a lap dance. Mr. Billie is always more comfortable in one of our leather chairs. I mean, the girls can’t get too close in the wheelchair anyway.” Jazz breathed in the scent of baby lotion as she kissed the top of Sage’s head. She bounced Sage on her knee. “Sweet baby girl.”
“Well at least she’s not discriminating against the disabled,” MiMi said when Willa looked to her for support.
“You’ve both lost your damn minds,” Willa blurted out.
“Not in front of the baby,” MiMi admonished.
“You need to stop being so high strung, Willa. Kyeisha wasn’t knocked out all the way. We got her down the stairs, slipped her butt into the wheelchair and had some dudes drive her to Lorraine’s place across town. Mr. Billie didn’t even miss his wheelchair, trust me. Monique kept him happy,” Jazz said, referring to the second dancer who worked for her part-time.
“Now I’ll have to live with that image in my head for days,” Willa muttered. “Skip to the part why I should give a flying sh—”
“Watch your mouth,” MiMi snapped and placed both palms over Sage’s ears. The toddler happily sucked the pacifier unaware of the drama.
“Bad Auntie Willa is a terrible role model,” Jazz said and rocked gently from side to side. She smothered a giggle when Willa gave her a look hot enough to set off the fire alarm.
“Come to mommy. There’s my sweet girl.”
MiMi took the baby in her arms and hummed a tune. Sage’s eyes drifted closed. Motioning for them to be quiet, MiMi continued humming as she took Sage to the nursery.
Willa gave Jazz another dirty look and went to the stove. She put more pasta and shrimp on a small plate and sat down again. “Humph, I’m the bad role model. Un-freaking-believable.”
“Yeah, I have to say that was funny.” Jazz winked at her.
MiMi returned and sat down between them before Willa could reply. “Now let’s develop a strategy.”
“From purring nursery music to running after drug money. Real nice,” Willa shot back. She speared a shrimp and pasta with her fork. Once she’d stuffed it in her mouth, Willa blinked in surprise. “Hmmm, not bad at all.”
“Thanks,” MiMi replied and frowned at her. “We don’t have any evidence that it’s drug money. Jack was going to invest in what he thought was a legitimate business expansion. He trusted Ryan. It’s not our fault, but at least we could do some good with it. .”
“Hell, all money spends,” Jazz grabbed a forked and ate off Willa’s plate.
“I’ve read that the drug business is so big, any money you test will show traces of cocaine. You could be walking around with so-called ‘drug money’ in your purse right now for all you know.” MiMi tossed her thick hair over one shoulder. “So now what do you say?”
Jazz stared at her genuinely impressed. “Damn, MiMi. You could be a lawyer.”
Willa put down her fork. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Just tell me why I’m here instead of watching Mikayla at dance practice. And make it quick, because then we have to pick up Anthony from his film academy lab.”
“What about his car?” MiMi said, getting off the subject.
“It’s in the shop right now,” Willa said in a tight voice. She turned to Jazz. “Get to the damn point. That way I can say refuse and be on my way.”
“See? His car is in the shop again. Tell me you don’t need money. My nephew needs a car. He’s earned it the way he turned around his grades and…” MiMi’s words trailed off at the dark glance from Willa.
“MiMi, you slept with my husband. You’re not Anthony’s aunt by any stretch,” Willa hissed her voice getting louder.
“Your ex-husband that you didn’t even like, much less love anymore. More than a couple of people thought you murdered him,” Jazz put in. She raised both palms when her sister turned back to her. “I’m stating facts.”
“Jazz, don’t keep testing me,” Willa warned in a soft yet deadly tone.
“But you’re right. MiMi, you’re like his step-mother. Except you didn’t marry Jack. So technically you’re the baby mama,” Jazz said with a grin.
MiMi glared at Jazz. “We were engaged.”
“My point is technically, I don’t think either of you has a strong claim to any of Jack’s money on moral grounds. I on the other hand was in business with Filipe. But, I’m generously including you two. We’re family.” Jazz smiled at them sweetly.
“Bullshit,” Willa and MiMi blurted in unison.
“You need my investigative resources to track the money in the legitimate world the way your thug buddies can’t,” Willa said and crossed her arms.
“I can sniff out information from our upper class social circle. You know they won’t talk to you, or your colorful friends. Remember the economy hit bottom in 2008. I’ll bet Jack wasn’t the only frat boy to lower his standards when it came to financing business.” MiMi arched an eyebrow.
Jazz shrugged. “Okay, so it takes a village.”
Willa barked a laugh empty of humor. “Now she’s a philosopher.”
“You two need me to crawl under the rocks for clues on the street. The big point is we all need each other,” Jazz snapped.
“But you two forget something. I don’t give a frig about the money. Crown protection may be operating on a thin margin, but we’re not anywhere near being broke. Anthony just earned a scholarship, so I don’t need the money for his college tuition,” Willa put in before MiMi could interrupt. “As for him not having a car? Two words - bus system. By the way, I raised Anthony to take care of himself. He doesn’t expect to get handed everything on a silver tray.”
“I don’t see why Anthony should do without because you’re hard-headed,” MiMi shot back.
Willa stood and looped her oversized satchel purse over one shoulder. “We both know you’re thinking of the designer clothes you want to buy. I’m out. Don’t bother calling me to another of these crazy conferences. The answer will still be ‘Hell no’.”
Jazz stood and faced her. “You haven’t heard what Kyeisha told me yet.”
“Doesn’t matter what hot clue Kyeisha dropped, or even if she knows which psycho drug dealer we can talk to about Filipe’s banking habit. I. Don’t. Care. Bye.” Willa started for the door.
“She threatened me,” Jazz said.
Willa stopped and turned around. “You could whip Kyeisha’s ass any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
“Kyeisha made it clear. She’s more than ready to tell Filipe and his old gang boys that I put him in prison. To make it better she’ll tell them I took the money,” Jazz said.
“Shit,” MiMi spluttered and then covered her mouth with a hand.
*
Two hours later, Jazz settled back in the leather seat of her Ford Explorer. She wheeled the black SUV through MiMi’s upper-class enclave, through the solid working-class part of town, and then to more familiar territory.
Poor people who worked hard had no choice, not enough money to leave the hood. They lived jammed up against drug dealers, dope heads, and prostitutes in an uneasy mutual existence. Good citizens and lowlifes kept a close eye on each other: one to keep from being victimized, the other to detect anyone reporting them to the police—and to retaliate. Neat, though old houses with trimmed tiny front yards were next to abandoned urban shacks. Well, no neighborhood is perfect. This was Jazz’s world, and she understood it all too well.
Jazz smiled as she drove and took a drag from her cigarette. Her favorite Wyclef Jean album blasted from the speakers. Guilt is a wonderful thing. Her big sister had a powerful protective streak and family loyalty off the scale. W Jazz had pushed both of those buttons at once. Now they were a team. Finding that sweet cash would be no biggie.
“Yeah baby,” Jazz sang out, bobbing her head to the beat. “Damn, Willa is right. I need to quit. I can’t have my baby smelling like stale smoke.”
She tossed the half-smoked cigarette from the rolled down window. The traffic light turned red at the corner of East Boulevard
and Terrace Street. A couple of urban entrepreneurs, a fancy name for street hustlers, waved to her. Drae and a dude known only as Ja’Blow grinned at her, but didn’t slow their roll. No doubt they had places to go and people to rip-off.
“Hey, y’all on the way to grandma’s for cookies?” Jazz shouted as at them.
Ja’Blow tugged on his sagging jeans. “Yah, I got some cookies for you fine woman.”
“That’s what’s up,” Drae added with a grin. “Comin’ to get me a private dance, girl.”
“Yeah, yeah. Y’all got talk, but if your money ain’t right, won’t be no action tonight,” Jazz wisecracked.
She laughed out loud when the men pretended they’d been shot, staggering along the sidewalk. Jazz hooted at them and honked her horn. A group of young men hanging on another corner joined in with catcalls.
Her playful mood almost made her miss the signs. Even so, her reflexes kicked in too late. Jazz saw another black SUV, this one a Land Rover, pull up behind her. She’d noticed it about six blocks back because she wanted one. Too pricey for her, but not for a successful gangster. Hoping she was being paranoid for nothing, Jazz cut the steering wheel sharply and screeched off before the light changed. She barreled down narrow Alice Street. The Land Rover followed, lights flashing in her rearview mirror.
“Damn, damn.”
Jazz didn’t hang much in south Baton Rouge, so she guessed at the next move. She shot around a corner. The Explorer leaned like it would rollover and her heart jumped. The big tires held to the pavement. Before she could breathe out her relief, a metal road barrier rushed at her and she slammed on the breaks. Boxed in.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Jazz fumbled with the sliding top of the console at her elbow. The .380 Smith and Wesson played tag. Her fingers scraped against more junk than she should have had in there with it. By the time she pulled it out the Land Rover had pulled up on her bumper. One dark figure crouched behind the open passenger door.
“You messed up my woman, bitch. I don’t much care, but it’s the principle. Know what I’m sayin’?” The familiar voice called.
