Devilish Details

by Emery, Lynn

  “Which is now their problem. So we’re not going to look for any of Filipe’s missing money. My lawyer hit a dead end tracing money Jack might have moved offshore. I don’t know how he did, but somehow he left no trail,” Willa put in.

  “Yes, let’s get back to the normal world with no gang leaders, laundered drug money, or dead bodies,” Cedric said with a deep sigh.

  MiMi gave a deep sigh as well, of despair instead of relief. She stood, picked up her designer purse and stomped to the door. “Crap. I’ll have to keep my job and hope that jerk comes through with an engagement ring.”

  Jazz exchanged an amused look with the other two as they watched her march out. “Life is so hard for a frustrated gold digger.”

  *

  Two days later, Theodor T. Ames arrived. The tall man with gray hair was dressed casually, but Jazz could tell his clothes were expensive. He spent an hour quizzing Jazz on how she operated the bar. His list of questions weren’t that long, but he covered a lot. Ames spent a good thirty minutes looking at the inside of Candy Girls. Then he walked around the perimeter of her property in the right morning sunshine examining the exterior of both buildings. It was ten o’clock and the Louisiana temperature felt like high noon. Despite the muggy mid-May heat, Theodor T. Ames looked cool. Mentally she called him by his full name because that’s the way he’d introduced himself. First to Jazz in a rush of words making sure he emphasized the “T” for some odd reason, then he repeated the ritual when Byron pulled up. Both times he stuck out a meaty hand to pump theirs as he said his name. Jazz watched him from the doorway. When he walked out of view, Jazz and Byron glanced at each other and shrugged. They went back inside Candy Girls. Jazz sat at the bar. She read his business card and flipped through a glossy brochure describing his corporation. Byron grabbed himself a bottle of cola from the fridge behind the bar.

  Byron arranged glasses in preparation for the night business. “White guy pulls up in a Benz. Hops out wearing pricey clothes and a seven thousand dollar watch. One of three things goin’ on: He’s crazy. He’s brave cause he got a gun, or he’s got a death wish.”

  “I need him to hurry up. Fridays start being busy around here early,” Jazz muttered.

  “Hey, you told me he was going to be what they call an ‘angel investor’. Sounds like you’re having second thoughts,” Byron said.

  “Second, third, and fourth.” Jazz sighed. The fancy brochure made a slapping sound as she dropped it on the bar surface. “I’ve always gone it alone. I’m not sure about giving up part of my business to anybody.”

  “Feels like selling your dream, huh? I know what you mean.” Byron nodded.

  Jazz looked at him with interest. She hadn’t seen the philosophical side of him before. “Yeah, sort of like that.”

  “On the other hand, if you keep tryin’ to go it alone you could lose everything. Either way is a risk. Gotta ask yourself which one you’re willing to take. What’s his contract look like?” Byron switched from lining up glasses to checking which bottles were getting low.

  “Bunch of legal crap that Higgins says it’s standard language. Ames becomes my business advisor. I’m going to get some work done around here. Fix the place up. I won’t spend much. I figure my new investor’s money can pay for major renovations,” Jazz said with a grin at the prospect of spending a rich man’s cash. “Higgins says the smart entrepreneur always uses other people’s money. I kinda like that way of thinking.”

  “Damn, you better be careful. On the other hand, if you don’t get some money to help run this place, you got nothin’ anyway. Tough spot.” Byron squatted to check out the shelf of bottles beneath the bar.

  “Gee, thanks for being Mr. Sunshine,” Jazz retorted. She picked up the brochure again.

  “I’m just sayin’,” Byron responded with another shrug.

  Detective Don Addison pushed through the front door. Despite the dark interior of the bar, he kept his sunglasses on. Jazz couldn’t help but notice how nice he looked in a tan cotton knit shirt and faded blue jeans. He gave Byron a friendly nod as a greeting. Byron nodded back in silent man to man “We cool” fashion. Seconds later, Byron discreetly faded down the hallway leading to the club’s storeroom and offices.

  “Morning. Who’s the suit pacing out front, from the city?” Don sat down as if he belonged right next to her.

  From any other guy Jazz would have begun to set him straight. Instead she smiled. Despite his annoying attempts to protect her, Jazz liked knowing he wanted to help. She needed friends she could count on; but a small voice reminded her this cute cop was just that, a cop.

  “Nah, he’s a potential investor. My lawyer introduced us. I want to do more than serve up drinks and barbecue ribs to sweaty men.” Jazz hopped from her perch and went around the bar. Without asking, she got him a tall dark brown bottle of root beer.

  Don smiled broadly when she poured the soda into a frosted mug. He took off his sunglasses. “Thanks, just the way I like it.”

  Jazz ignored the smoky look in his sexy eyes, and the perfect cue for her to get sexy right back. “You’re welcome. Anyway, I’ve got a business plan. I need capital to put that plan in motion.”

  “You don’t have to front with me, Jazz. You’re under some pressure with the bad publicity and now the city is trying to shut you down. I’ve got some savings,” Don began but stopped when Jazz raised a hand.

  “First, police officers don’t make much money, and you’ve got bills. Second, have you lost your damn mind? Your job would be in serious trouble if your bosses found out you invested in this place. No, there isn’t a way for you to secretly ‘loan’ me some money,” Jazz pressed on when he opened his mouth to respond. “This is a legitimate investor with the deep pocket I need.”

  “Yeah, but just how legit? Have you checked him out?” Don took a swig of root beer.

  “Stop talking to me like I have no sense, please. My sister checked out his company. No indictments. His company has no history of investigations by the SEC or the Better Business Bureau, and Ames doesn’t have a criminal record.” Jazz ticked off the points on four fingers.

  Don’s eyebrows went up. “Doing your homework. That’s good. Who is this lawyer you got?”

  As if he’d been conjured up by Addison’s questions, Godfrey Higgins strolled in. He wore another expensive suit. “Whew, I’m glad your A/C is working. It’s ten in the morning and already eighty-three degrees outside. I’m not looking forward to July and August. Nice to meet you officer.”

  “How’d you…” Jazz’s voice trailed off and she glanced at Don.

  “I know an unmarked police car when I see one. No trouble I hope?” Higgins stood as though he wasn’t ready to get comfortable around Don.

  “Just friends visiting,” Don clipped. “Detective Don Addison.”

  “Godfrey Higgins. I have a general law practice. Nice to meet you.” Higgins turned his attention to Jazz. “I was in the area. I called Ted’s cell. Since he was still here, I thought I’d stop by. How’s it going?”

  “I don’t know. He’s hasn’t said much,” Jazz replied.

  “Don’t worry. I looked over his contract. I didn’t see any worrisome clauses. I’ll go out and talk to him and then set up a meeting. Sound good?”

  “Fine with me,” Jazz said.

  Higgins gave Don a cordial nod. “Y’all have a good one.”

  “You do the same,” Don replied in a dry tone empty of sincerity. When the door closed behind Higgins, he gave a grunt of disapproval. “I hope you checked him out, too. He’s got sleazy lawyer stamped all over him in neon letters.”

  “Why are you so cynical? Oh right, you’re a cop,” Jazz retorted in answer to her own question. “Yes, and he came highly recommended by a friend.”

  “I sure hope you’re not planning on trying something dicey with that guy’s help.”

  “Such as?” Jazz said, more amused than irritated. Clearly he knew her well.

  “I’m not kidding around here, Jazz. Walking the li
ne, or crossing it, is a favorite sport of yours. One day you’ll get in too deep.” Don frowned at her. “Like with Filipe.”

  “We’re through. The prison record isn’t romantic,” Jazz wisecracked.

  “His hobby of killing people he even thinks crossed him isn’t all that charming either,” Don shot back without cracking a smile.

  Jazz sobered at his intense words of truth. “I know. Look, I’ve got a kind of shady background myself, so I don’t judge. But I’m done with Filipe. I’m not even in touch with his boys. I hear he’s got two boo thangs visiting him on opposite Sundays. He’s moved on from me, too.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Don said, his voice a deep alluring burr.

  “I know,” Jazz said and pressed her lips together. Damn her big mouth.

  Don laughed softly. “You checked me out while you were at it, huh? I don’t blame you. So you know I pay child support for two sons, ages ten and thirteen. My ex-wife refused alimony, but you know that, too.”

  “Hmm.” Jazz concentrated on wiping the condensation from their soft drinks from the bar top.

  “I’m not offended you ran a check on me. Saves us time. We don’t have to play the usual games.” Don relaxed against the bar.

  Jazz gave him a head to toe look as she rested her elbows on the bar as well. “Oh I don’t play bruh. I’m always serious as can be when…”

  “Me again,” Higgins called from the door.

  “How many exits you gonna take?” Don muttered without looking around at him.

  “Shush,” Jazz whispered. She pushed away from the bar and walked to him. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Ted finished his assessment. I told him there was no need to come in,” Higgins replied. His gaze remained on Don’s broad back as he spoke. “I’ll let you know about that meeting. Can we talk outside a minute?”

  “Sure.” Jazz followed him through the door without glancing back at Don.

  “Your boyfriend must be jealous, huh? Not too happy to see me show up,” Higgins said, his voice low and confidential.

  “I’m guessing Ames had something more to say you wanna tell me,” Jazz replied mildly. She tilted her head to one side as they stood in the one square of shade available.

  Higgins gave a short laugh of appreciation. “I do like your style, Ms. Vaughn. Ahem, yes. Ted likes the potential of this property. You’re not far from a major intersection. The lots behind you could become a nice retail area in the next few years. He didn’t go into details, but I’m betting he’ll help you build up your business and buy you out for a healthy sum, enough cash to start another business.”

  “Hey, I like the sound of that. I’m not losing money now, but my margin is still slim.” Jazz stared off at the neighborhood looking for the same potential Ames saw.

  “Like I told you, this area is developing. It may not look like it today, but soon you’ll notice. Two major construction projects are about to start within a couple of miles from here. Hard working guys looking to relax after work, some of them from out of town.”

  “Hard working guys with money to spend,” Jazz said with a grin. “Guys who appreciate pretty women serving those drinks, too. I could make a sweet profit and then sell the property.”

  “I can even put you in touch with a top real estate broker who can find you a suitable commercial property.”

  Jazz turned to face him. “So you’re the man with a plan, all the bases covered.”

  “I look ahead and have the right contacts.” Higgins took out a pair of designer sunglasses and put them on.

  “All sounds wonderful for me if the city doesn’t shut me down and nail the doors shut,” Jazz said.

  “The city won’t be shutting you down, Ms. Vaughn. Concentrate on your business and leave those clowns downtown to me. I’ll be in touch.” Higgins flashed the same cocky smile he used for his television commercials before he strolled to his black BMW coup.

  Jazz watched him drive off and then turned around. She almost bumped into Don. “Set off some warning beeps, man. I almost got knocked out against this chest of steel.”

  Don looked past her without smiling at her combination joke and compliment. “He’s up to something. I can smell it on him like cheap cologne.

  “I can assure you, Godfrey Higgins doesn’t wear cheap anything. Let’s get out of the heat.” Jazz spun around and went back inside.

  “Watch him,” Don said insistently.

  “Damn, I’m gonna be too exhausted watching my back to do any-damn-thing. Lorraine, Kyeisha, Cleavon, and according to you, even Filipe is plotting something from prison. Folks who want a piece of me will need to take a number.” Jazz gave a laugh as she led the way back to the bar. She went to the fridge and got a bottle of ginger ale.

  “This ain’t no joke, Jazzmonetta,” Don replied. His sober police officer tone was meant to get Jazz to straighten up.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jazz waved a hand and drank some of the soda. Then she looked at him. “Wait a minute. You heard anything about Cleavon or Kyeisha?”

  “They found blood in her apartment. Somebody tried using bleach to clean it up. Doesn’t look good for us finding her alive.”

  “Or in one piece,” Jazz said. Her stomach did a flip-flop as she winced. She looked at Don intently. “Her blood?”

  “Too degraded. I’m no fan of foster care, but in this case, I’m glad her kids had been taken away a year ago. They would have witnessed something bad, or even become victims,” Don said.

  “Yeah well take it from me, the same stuff and worse happens in those places.” Jazz couldn’t think of one good thing about foster care.

  “Listen if you ever want to talk—”

  Jazz flipped a switch on the sound system and Erykah Badu’s voice flowed from speakers set in the walls. “Sing it girl. Anyway, I promise to eat my veggies, get plenty of rest, and shoot first, then ask questions.”

  “Very funny. I’m going to be checking on you, starting tonight,” Don said. His deep voice asked a question and issued an invitation at once.

  She studied him for a long beat as Erykah’s signature sassy lyrics surrounded them. Going it alone had worn thin as a stripper’s thong. She needed rest alright: rest from loneliness and from hot guys who turned into killers in a blink. What she needed was a good long rest from her okey-doke life. Is that what he promised? Hearts and flowers?

  “I’m not a pie baking, cute house in the suburbs kind of woman. You better be careful,” Jazz warned.

  “I’m ready.” Don leaned his tall frame down to kiss her on the forehead. “See you around midnight.”

  He strode out before Jazz could think of anything smart to say. A first in a long time, she mused. She tried not to tag after him like a puppy, but his exit yanked at her like a magnet. He never looked back but kept walking to his car. When Don got in and saw her standing in the door, he blew a kiss. Then he drove off all casual like he hadn’t just caused a tiny earthquake in her world.

  “So romantic,” Lilly blurted out over Jazz’s shoulder. “Now you’re doing cops? Girl, half your customers gone be scared to set foot up in here.” She spun around and flounced back inside the club.

  “What the hell are you doing here so early? You should be at your day job serving chicken tenders and lemonade to college students,” Jazz snapped. She went back inside and pushed the door shut with one foot. She locked it.

  “I’m going to debut my new dance moves, and I want my costume to be ready. I’ll be in my dressing room.” Lilly flipped her multicolored acrylic covered fingertips at Jazz as she kept going.

  “Of course your highness,” Jazz said and gave a snort.

  “Hey, why you closed that door? The lunch crowd will be comin’ in soon. I done took six takeout orders on the phone already,” Rochelle yelled from the back of the club. She handed off a box of frozen onion rings to Byron.

  “I got the side door open. Made a sign with arrows pointing this way and put it out front,” Byron said. His voice faded as he went to the kitchen.


  “You thinkin’ more than I give you credit,” Rochelle said. She looked genuinely surprised as she headed behind him in the same direction.

  Jazz blinked in surprise as well but at the rise of emotion that came over her. She owed it to these people to save her business. Byron wouldn’t have it easy finding another job with his record. Rochelle hadn’t even finished high school, though Jazz had talked her into working on the GED. Lilly felt more comfortable here than anywhere, though she’d eat glass before she’d admit it. Each one in their own way worked hard to make her nightclub and restaurant a success. She would not give up. Maybe city officials and other people saw Candy Girls as a skanky dive, but this place meant a lot more to them. Jazz would not let them down.

  Chapter 9

  A man of his word, Don showed up at midnight. And, he showed out. He wore a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up and light blue distressed jeans. He stood in Jazz’s living room looking all kinds of good. She allowed him to play the gentleman for all of ten minutes before things got hot. Jazz dispensed with the courtship nonsense he tried on her. They were on the floor and naked in short order. Not even a break to get condoms spoiled the moment. He rocked her to the beat of loud music from Candy Girls. And thank goodness for the wall shaking sound. Don had Jazz screaming. Jazz gave as good as she got. After a while, she didn’t care if anyone heard them and from his performance, neither did Don. Even after so much satisfying strenuous exercise, neither fell asleep. They lay side by side on Jazz’s expensive carpet without speaking for a good twenty minutes—mostly because they were still finding it hard to breathe.

  “When you creep at midnight Officer Addison you don’t mess around,” Jazz said. A first she resisted Don’s attempt to pull her into his arms. Soon she relented and rested her cheek against his chest. His rumble of laughter sent warmth through her body again.

  “You blew out some of my brain cells, girl,” Don replied.

  “Good, then we’re even.” Jazz nudged him playfully.

  Don lifted her chin so their gazes met. “I’m not much into creepin’ these days. I want more.”