by Emery, Lynn
“None taken,” Tyretta replied and poured more coffee into her cup. She gave Jazz the side eye though.
“We have a legitimate need to settle his estate. Searching for assets is part of the legal process. No need to involve Jazz at all.” MiMi’s tone became more confident the longer she talked. “You have a responsibility to account for property, cash, investments or whatever as the executor.”
Jazz looked at Willa. “She’s makes a good argument. If you happen to find out there’s more money than might be Jack’s then… some of it is mine.”
“Hmm, that could work. Keep the search in the bourgie world, the civil courts. No mention of Jazz. Might be ticklish for a minute or two, but it could work.” Tyretta sipped coffee. She might have been a corporate type considering a business strategy. Of course the orange braids, matching nail polish, and skin tight zebra leggings didn’t fit the image.
“Forget that idea,” Cedric’s deep voice seemed like a thunder clap. All four women jumped.
“Damn, got coffee on my new leggings!” Tyretta protested. She grabbed a napkin and took angry swipes at the offending wet brown spot. “Who the hell…”
“Sorry ladies. I came in after my other meeting ended,” Cedric replied and nodded to everyone as a greeting.
Tyretta’s mouth hung open as she looked at him. Her gaze drifted from his face down to his feet. “I’ll get some of that stain remover and these will be good as new. Can I get you anything?”
“He moves around real smooth and quiet,” Jazz said with a grin.
“He’s good at that,” Willa replied.
“I’m gonna want details later,” Jazz whispered back with a wink.
Willa blushed. Looking away, she became fascinated with an ink pen on her desk. “I meant he’s good at blending in when he investigates.”
“Yeah,” Jazz wisecracked. When Willa buttoned up her navy blue blazer, Jazz’s smirk widened.
“Filipe has eyes and ears everywhere. He’ll make the connection. He’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them,” Cedric said.
“He’s right. The minute there is anything on record about me searching for money outside the United States he’ll know.” Willa nodded in agreement.
“Not to mention the media might get interested. Jack’s murder investigation played big in the news,” Cedric added.
MiMi winced. “Jerk reporters.”
“Reverend Fisher had a fine old time giving a couple of interviews. All that stuff about the sin of envy and the wickedness caused by the love of money.” Willa gazed at Jazz.
“Don’t give me a look. I didn’t tell him what to say.” Jazz lifted her nose in the air. “He was my spiritual adviser. He didn’t ask me to write his sermons or anything.”
“Yeah, well your ‘spiritual adviser’ sure didn’t succeed at putting you on the road to righteousness,” Willa retorted. “And he didn’t stop passing the collection plate at Abundant Love Ministries either.”
“He didn’t stop lovin’ the Lord or money,” Tyretta chimed in and cackled. “Nice church though. I attend service there once in a while. Lot of members.”
“Amazing,” MiMi said. “The fact that gangsters were using his ministry to run a drug and gun operation didn’t damage his reputation or the church’s either. He came off looking like a saint because he forgave them, and visited some in jail.”
“Reverend Fisher is a survivor,” Jazz replied with a smile. Then her amusement withered as she considered Cedric’s argument. “So you’re saying we should back off.”
“Crown Protection is doing a little better than breaking even. I have three appointments this week alone to get long-term contracts,” Cedric said to Willa.
Willa stared at Jazz. “Thank you. Please tell them we’re not about to close our doors.” “Far from it,” Cedric replied. He turned to MiMi. “I know you’d like a richer lifestyle, but you’re doing just fine. You have a job, a very nice house, and income from Jack’s investments…”
“Very modest income,” MiMi protested.
“Aunt Ametrine would say you’re blessed and don’t have sense enough to know it,” Willa said. She ignored the dirty look MiMi shot her way. “Bottom line is he’s right. Jazz, the last thing you should want is anything to do with thugs. Go back to just running your club. Let the police keep the heat on Cleavon, and eventually he’ll lose interest in you.”
“I have no doubt Filipe has eyes on Cleavon, which means bad news for Cleavon. Let’s not get caught in the crossfire,” Cedric said.
“Hell, no. Drive-bys with bullets flying everywhere is bad for my health. We better let them fight it out and stay low,” Tyretta said. She flashed a smile at Cedric, who blushed and cleared his throat.
Jazz frowned at Tyretta. “A minute ago you agreed with me.”
“I’m willing to consider new information and stay flexible,” Tyretta replied, her gaze still on Cedric. “I’m real flexible.”
Cedric blinked hard and looked at Willa. “I’ve got calls to make, but stay far away from anything that involves Filipe Perez.”
Tyretta sprang to block his exit as he started for the door. She stuck out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Um, same here. Bye.” Cedric left as if he had urgent matters elsewhere.
“He’s got a serious thing for Willa, so stop wasting your time sweetie,” Jazz drawled.
“Hey,” Willa blurted out and stood straight.
MiMi waved a hand. “Oh everybody knows you two are hot for each other.”
“I don’t know what the hell everybody thinks they know, but they need to stay out of my business,” Willa said. The heat in her tone threatened to melt anything within twenty feet.
MiMi ignored Willa. “Let’s get back to the money. We all know Cedric is conservative, and while I appreciate his sense of caution…”
“Hey, you ever been on the wrong end of a straight mean thug? The more I think about it, Jazz, the more I agree with Mr. Sexy,” Tyretta said.
“But, but.” MiMi’s mouth worked as she tried to marshal another argument
Jazz hissed out a long sigh and stood. She looped her leather hobo bag over one shoulder. “MiMi, just stop. We both know damn well Cedric is right. Those fingers missing the rest of Kyeisha? That’s the kind of stuff Latino drug gangs do to people who cross them. I’m sentimental about all of my body parts, so that’s a wrap for me on the money chase.”
“Now you’re talking sense,” Willa said. “MiMi, you have Sage to consider. This isn’t a game.”
“Of course I’d never put Sage in any danger. We’re trying to settle her father’s estate. Filipe or any of those gang members won’t care about…” MiMi’s voice died away when Jazz and Tyretta headed for the door.
“I’ll meet you outside,” Tyretta said. She waved goodbye to Willa and MiMi before scurrying out.
Jazz rolled her eyes and faced Willa. “You know she’s hoping to accidently bump into your man.”
“He’s not my man,” Willa snapped loudly.
“All I’m sayin’ is give him what he wants before some other woman is all over that good stuff. You keep playing hard to get and you’ll end up playing all by yourself.” Jazz raised both arched eyebrows at her. “Tell her, MiMi. You’re the expert on getting a man.”
“Hmm.” MiMi wore a deep frown of concentration.
Jazz lightly tapped MiMi on the shoulder as she walked past where she sat. “Take some wise advice and learn how to live within the means you got, girl.”
“Not that I care, but Tyretta isn’t Cedric’s type. But hey, he’s free and grown. It’s none of my business,” Willa replied. She made it a point not to look at the open door that led to her office lobby.
“How much you want to bet Tyretta is making up an excuse to look for the ladies restroom? She’s going to hunt him down if it’s the last thing she does,” Jazz teased. She suppressed a chuckle when Willa’s nostrils flared.
“Don’t be so obvious, baby sister. I’m not goin
g to take the bait.” Willa walked around her desk and sat down. “So you’re not going after the drug money? We’re clear?”
Jazz grew serious again. “Kyeisha and Cleavon messed with the wrong pack of pit bulls. Let them rip into each other. I’m staying out of it.”
MiMi heaved a dramatic sigh. “How sweet. You two pick now to be on the same page, and we’ll lose close to a million dollars. I’m sure interest has accrued.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure you want all of your fingers, toes, and both eyes,” Jazz shot back. When MiMi squeaked at the image, Jazz nodded. “Bye sis.”
“Bye,” Willa replied. She grinned at a shaken MiMi.
Jazz found Tyretta in the lobby trying to pump Kay for information on Cedric’s whereabouts. Kay mouthed a relieved “Thank you” when Jazz collected her persistent buddy and marched her out the glass exit doors.
“So you’re sure Cedric and Willa are solid?” Tyretta said the minute they were in the elevator. The doors swished shut and she hit the button to the first floor.
“Positive. Besides, Cedric would bore you into a coma. He likes going to art exhibits and classic jazz.”
“Humph, how do you know I’m not into art and classic jazz?” Tyretta tossed her head making the orange blond tresses bounce.
“So you’re an Art Tatum fan?” Jazz checked for texts on her smart phone.
“Who?”
“Yeah,” Jazz retorted and walked ahead of her when the elevator doors slid open.
“Umph.” Tyretta followed her to Jazz’s car parked in the lot. “Were you blowin’ smoke in there with your sister?”
“No way. Bloody body parts are a sign to leave well enough the hell alone.” Jazz looked at Tyretta.
*
Jazz stuck to her word. She knew Filipe, his crazy gang members, and his even crazier cousins enough to know when she was well off. They weren’t coming directly to her. She’d be a fool to go looking for them. The next day, a different kind of trouble showed up at the front door of Candy Girls. Literally.
Jazz went down to air the place out and get ready for the lunch crowd. As usual she’d gone in through the back doors first. She was inside when she heard a noise out front. Cautious, Jazz went to the double front entrance doors. Two diamond shaped windows with double-pane shatterproof smoky glass allowed in muted light. She peered outside. Her heart raced when she saw the top of a man’s head. He was intent on something. Then moments later he walked off tapping on a tablet computer. Jazz rushed through the process of opening four sets of heavy locks. She swung open the door only to see a car with the city seal pull from the parking lot and go down the street. Only when she turned did Jazz notice the thick paper taped to the door. A plastic bag contained another form. She pulled it out, read one word in red at the top and shivered. She still sat at the bar staring at the papers two hours later. First Byron and then Tyretta arrived to find her there. An ashtray spilled over with cigarette butts. Her fifth cup of coffee had gotten cold.
“Close the place down,” Byron said. His words rolling out like the voice of doom. “I got to find another gig. Damn.”
“Yeah, Byron cause it’s all about you,” Tyretta snapped. “Jazz put every cent she had into the place. This is her dream. Freedom from shakin’ her ass to somebody else’s beat.”
Byron bobbed his large head in appreciation. “Hey, that’s almost poetic. And I wasn’t meaning to just think about me, but I got four kids at the house. Ya know?”
“He’s right. This does affect him, and the rest of you,” Jazz said. She fingered the papers for a second before pushing them away. Not that getting them out of sight made a difference.
“You need to get a lawyer. The city can’t just push us around. We got a legal business. All the right permits and everything. I got a good mind to go downtown put some of those SOBs on notice.” Tyretta let loose with a string of curse words that made even big Byron blink.
“That ain’t gonna do nothin’ but make it worse. Show em they’re right to call this place a ‘nuisance property’,” Byron said sternly. “Jazz got enough trouble without you givin’ them evidence.”
“Just stop all the noise, Tyretta.”
Jazz felt tears pushing at her eyelids. She hated crying, or the weakness that made her tearful. When she was five, Jazz realized crying didn’t get her mother’s attention. In fact, in the wrong situation, crying just invited more mistreatment. Her childish high pitched squealing further enraged her unpredictable mother or her latest boyfriend. In her nightmare journey through the foster care system, Jazz had met truly sadistic people who enjoyed watching kids suffer. Pleading for help or mercy only assured the abuse would continue—or get worse. So she not only shut down, she learned to get even. But right now, she couldn’t work up the energy to feel angry. All she felt was defeated.
Tyretta sat on the bar stool next to her. She put a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “Listen girl, you take some time to rest. Hell, you’ve been working sixteen hour days for months runnin’ this place. Go up to your place and take a nap. We’ll open for lunch.”
“But the notice,” Byron protested as he pointed at the papers.
“Let me see this shit again.” Tyretta grabbed the papers and read them. “This is a notice that there’s gonna be a hearing in fifteen working days. She’s got to prepare to answer charges that Candy Girls, LLC is promoting crime and a general decay of… Dutton Estates? What the hell is Dutton Estates?”
“The city is made up of subdivisions that were named back when neighborhoods were established,” Jazz said in a monotone. “Back in 1939 some guy name Dutton owned land around here. It’s on all the papers for this property. Nobody even remembers that far back.”
“Well, anyway, we’re going to fight. Get a lawyer,” Tyretta said.
“Hey, she’s got a good point. What about that guy on television, Marty something? He’s got those commercials saying, ‘I’ll make them pay!’” Byron said.
“Him? He’s only interested in accidents with big rigs. Makes his money getting settlements from insurance companies,” Jazz replied. “I gave him lap dances when I worked at Gentleman’s Pleasure across town. Good tipper though.”
“Then maybe he’ll take your case since y’all are friends,” Byron replied.
Jazz looked at him and planted a fist on one hip. “You must be joking. How you think Mr. Jewish Family Man would react to his former pole dancer showing up asking for a favor?”
Byron scratched his jaw. “Well, it’s business so I don’t think…”
“The city is making me an example. Candy Girls has already been in the newspapers. Some sharp reporter will dig up my past for sure. Marty will figure out real quick that he wants nothing to do with me.” Jazz sniffed. She jumped down from the bar stool and stomped over to grab a paper napkin. As she dabbed at her eyes, Tyretta made soothing noises while patting her back.
“So like I said, I got to find another job.” Byron grunted. “Not that I won’t try to help you, too, Jazz. I got a friend owns a string of quick stop shops. Maybe he can find something for all of us.”
“Great. Just what we always dreamed about,” Tyretta snapped. “Wearing an ugly shirt with a logo on it selling beef jerky, and hoping we don’t get robbed by some crack head.”
“It ain’t like that,” Byron replied. “My friend has six nice stores. Well, five now. The cops shut down one after they found some pipes and illegal bath salts in it.”
“Oh, that sounds even more exciting, Byron.” Tyretta threw up both hands. “Five bucks says your buddy is next on the city’s hit list.”
“Larry is a nice guy. He’s married to my cousin,” Byron said, as if that proved Larry’s goodness.
“Well unless your cousin got elected mayor last night, that don’t mean diddly-shit,” Tyretta replied and turned her back to a grumbling Byron. “Look, girl. My friend knows a lawyer who can advise you. He’s taken on the city before and won.”
“I appreciate the help, Tyretta, but I don’t know.” Jazz
picked up the cup again. She sipped and grimaced at the taste of tepid coffee. “I don’t have money to pay a lawyer charging over a hundred bucks an hour while we sit in court.”
“His first consultation is free. I think it is anyway. At least let me call and find out. This guy says those city ordinances are weak as dish water.” Tyretta nodded when Jazz glanced at her.
“He’s had this type of case before?” Jazz pushed away the heavy blanket of self-pity that had settled on her shoulders.
“Yep. Don’t let them push you around. They want you to just pack up and run for cover. Hell, Lorraine might be behind this mess.” Tyretta waved her arms in outrage. “She needs to get over it and quit hatin’ on you.”
Jazz felt the flames of anger come alive in her gut. Lorraine. Wouldn’t she love to see Candy Girls boarded up and Jazz back dancing on a pole? “Get me that lawyer’s name.”
*
A tall man in a dark gray suit came through the door of the attorney’s office suite. Jazz watched him walk through the waiting room, speak to the cute secretary and then disappear through one of three doors. The nut brown young woman continued clicking away on the keyboard of her desktop computer. Her name, Shamekia Thompson, was on a small plaque on her desk. She flashed a brief professional smile at Jazz.
“Mr. Nelson knows you’re waiting, ma’am. He just got back from court. He shouldn’t be long.”
“Thanks.”
The phone on Shamekia’s desk rang and she picked it up. “Law offices of Higgins, Nelson and Wilson, how may I help you?”
Jazz picked up a magazine from the end table. She settled down figuring the “few minutes” meant she’d be hanging out for at least a half hour. Bored looking supermodels stared back at her from the glossy pages of a fashion magazine. Jazz flipped through articles on make-up, jewelry, and clothes few women she knew could afford. She started feeling as bored as the supermodels when raised voices made her look up. The secretary gave her a tight smile, but remained at her desk. Two male voices rumbled behind closed doors. A loud thud made the secretary and Jazz flinch at the same time. The voices were lower but not by much. Then silence that stretched on for several minutes seemed ominous.
