Devilish Details

by Emery, Lynn

  *

  Two days later Jazz sat in the courtroom next to her new lawyer. Keith Phillips looked as she’d expected him to given his reputation. His black hair was perfectly in place, his black suit and dark red tie were immaculate. She’d grown more and more confident the longer he talked to her before the bond hearing. He had a sonorous voice that Jazz felt sure would be used to good effect. Her only worry was he’d come across as too over the top dramatic, like a slick attorney from a television drama. She soon realized that Phillips had complete control of how his performance. Jazz figured he saved his drama for juries, where it counted.

  Willa sat with her adopted parents in the gallery. Her older sister’s gaze darted around at the players, taking their measure. Jazz knew Willa was both scared and furious. She’d gone on a tirade upon learning Jazz had signed a contract to avoid having Willa raise her bail money. MiMi had worked to calm her down. They were in serious trouble if MiMi had become the voice of reason, Jazz mused with a smile. Phillips patted her hand, misreading the reason she was amused.

  “Good. Reassure your family that this will turn out fine, because it will,” Phillips said with poise, obviously at ease.

  “Psst, Jazz. I’m here.”

  “Ma’am, take a seat.” A tall deputy the color of ebony pointed to a bench.

  Jazz turned around to see MiMi at work trying to charm the man, and failing. She sat down and grimaced at his back when he walked away. Then she waved at and mouthed something Jazz didn’t understand. Willa’s father, Papa Elton, gestured to MiMi. With a wide smile of recognition, MiMi popped up again. MiMi asked a couple to move over which allowed her to sit next to him and Willa’s mother. Willa sighed and rolled her eyes before looking at Jazz again. The question in her sister’s gaze came across clearly. Jazz nodded and turned back around. Looking at the stern judge gave Jazz no hope that her lawyer could fast talk her out of jail.

  “The State versus Jazzmonetta Raye Vaughn,” the court clerk read in a bland tone. “On the matter of bail.”

  The assistant DA, a fresh faced young white woman stood. “We’re asking that bond be set at 1.5 million dollars, Judge Davis. Ms. Vaughn has known international criminal ties, can liquidate assets and also has an arrest record.”

  “Mr. Phillips, I’m sure you have a response,” Judge Davis said. He sat back as if to say, “It better be damn good, too.”

  “Yes, your honor. Ms. Vaughn has strong family and social ties to Baton Rouge, and she’s lived here all of her life. The assets Ms. Thompson refers to consist of a business she saved for years to buy. As for arrests, the assistant DA knows very well Ms. Vaughn has never been to trial much less convicted of any crime. In fact, she helped the police in a high profile murder investigation. As for the reference to ‘international criminal ties’, that is ludicrous.” Phillip raised a dark eyebrow at the ADA, a silent gesture of admonishment. “Based on her lack of previous convictions and her ties to this city, Ms. Vaughn should be released on her own recognizance.”

  “Save the fancy flourishes for later, Mr. Phillips,” Judge Anderson said dryly.

  ADA Thompson’s red lips twitched as she worked not to smirk. “Your honor, Ms. Vaughn has documented ties to one Filipe Perez, a convicted felon with dual citizenship in the U.S. and Bolivia.”

  “Mr. Perez is in prison for drug possession with intent to distribute. Ms. Vaughn was not charged or even questioned in relation to his arrest and conviction. Please provide us with solid evidence of this international connection, Ms. Thompson,” Phillips clipped.

  “They were intimately involved for a year at least,” ADA Thompson replied sharply. “They were close associates. She continues to communicate with his gang.”

  “What?” Jazz blurted out. Phillips put a hand on her shoulder as a message to show restraint.

  “No outburst, Ms. Vaughn. This is not a reality TV courtroom,” Judge Anderson rumbled at her.

  “Yes sir,” Jazz forced out.

  “Again, I’m hearing gossip but no evidence. Ms. Vaughn vehemently denies any kind of relationship with gang members,” Phillips said.

  Jazz relaxed. She had to give it to him, Phillips was sharp. He didn’t claim Jazz never had associates with criminal records. ADA Thompson would have a fun time bringing up a list of her friends, including Byron. He least of all deserved to have his past waved like a flag, not after the way he’d turned his life around. Naturally ADA Thompson didn’t care about collateral damage done to make her point.

  “As for the business she worked so hard to get, the city is trying to shut down her strip club, a nuisance property. We have good reason to believe Ms. Vaughn would just as soon cut her losses, sell the place, and get out of town. She’s courting so-called investors as we speak,” Thompson smirked at her opponent when Phillips huffed in outrage.

  “Damn, how does she know?” Jazz whispered as she looked up at Phillips.

  He faced the ADA without glancing down at Jazz. “Ms. Thompson is correct, but the contract Ms. Vaughn signed is hardly enough to do more than pay her mounting legal fees to fight this weak criminal case. In other words, the money is almost spent.”

  “Then give the court an accounting of those funds. Otherwise we have no way of knowing how much money she has to finance a life on the run,” the ADA shot back with heat.

  Phillips faced Judge Anderson with a frown of incredulity. “Your honor, we’re being asked to prove a negative because the DA’s office has no other substantial support for such a high bail amount.”

  “Ms. Thompson, I have to agree. Your argument about international ties seem to be a reach. Poor dating choices would put a lot of people on the spot.” Judge Anderson frowned when laugher came from the court audience.

  “Quiet during court,” the deputy warned.

  “Judge Anderson, Ms. Vaughn’s known associations and her history of violence, not to mention the seriousness of the charges…”

  “Excuse me? What history are you talking about?” Phillips cut her off.

  “She may not have been convicted, but assault with a deadly weapon after a childhood filled with instances of aggressive behavior show a clear pattern,” Thompson said, facing the judge.

  “May I have a moment with my client,” Phillips said.

  “Five minutes,” Judge Anderson replied, a look of interest stamped on his ruddy face.

  Phillips sat down and leaned close to Jazz. “What is she talking about?”

  Jazz felt a familiar queasiness in the pit of her gut. Shame and terror crept up her spine like a clammy hand. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Then she looked over her shoulder. Willa pulled against the restraining hands of both her parents. MiMi blinked in confusion. Jazz jerked her head back to face Phillips.

  “I stabbed my third foster father when I was fourteen. He’d, he’d molested me and I couldn’t… I couldn’t take it again. He almost died cause I cut an artery. I shut down, wouldn’t talk., but my sister told them why. His wife, a nurse swore I was lying.” Jazz tried to go on, but flashbacks of blood and the sweaty smell of the man’s skin made her feel faint.

  Phillips gripped her hand and then let go. He poured water in a paper cup from one of two pitchers on the table “Hold on, just hang in there.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jazz managed to get out with a weak nod.

  He shot to his feet. “You honor, this is too much. ADA Thompson is trying to be sly and skirt the law that prohibits bringing up closed juvenile court issues. Ms. Vaughn was a vulnerable child, a victim failed by the system and the adults who should have protected her from a predator.”

  Judge Anderson’s face flushed pink even more. “The court will take a ten minute recess. I’ll see both sides in my chambers. Now.”

  “Come on, you have a right to be present,” Phillips said.

  “Okay,” Jazz replied, unsure she could walk.

  Still, she managed to stand when the deputy nodded at her. The soft buzz of whispers from the court audience rose at her back. Jazz had
no time to look around at her sister. They were ushered through a side door to the left of the judge’s raised dais. A short walk down a hallway, a left and a right brought them to the judge’s office. Judge Anderson didn’t invite anyone to take a seat. Instead he marched behind his desk, but remained standing.

  “I want specifics, Ms. Thompson. Don’t leave anything out,” Judge Anderson rumbled.

  “It’s on record that a court considered charging Ms. Vaughn as an adult. Due to the nature of that crime, I believe it’s relevant to these charges. In both instances a knife was used as a weapon of vengeance,” ADA Thompson said without hesitation.

  “She struck out after being abused,” Phillips broke in.

  “I was raped,” Jazz spat out. “Stop using fixed up phrases. I couldn’t stand up the first time. See, he liked it rough. I was ten years old.”

  Phillips hovered close to Jazz, a hand under her elbow. “Thanks for traumatizing my client all over again, Ms. Thompson.”

  “Your honor…” The ADA raised a forefinger ready to make another point.

  “That’s enough,” Judge Anderson thundered. Both attorneys winced in the face of a judge’s wrath. He sat down. “Ms. Vaughn, have a seat.

  “Okay.” Jazz took a dark red leather chair closest to her.

  “Can you tell me about this case, not that I won’t look at the record myself,” Judge Anderson added with a dark glance at ADA Thompson and Phillips.

  “My foster father raped me. I fought back one night. I had a history of fighting, so the first thing everybody thought was I just lost it. My foster mother told me no one would believe a crack baby hood rat. He was an assistant principal and they had lots of big time friends. My foster care case worker even spoke against me, about how I had attacked other kids before. My sister found out. She tracked down a couple of girls that had been placed in that home, older than me; already on their own. Only one of them agreed to back up my story. They kept the case in juvenile court to protect him, not me,” Jazz said and grimaced at the ugly truth. “Like I said, they had plenty of friends.”

  “Judge Anderson,” ADA Thompson started but stopped when the judge held up one large hand.

  “Due to the seriousness of this crime, bail will be set at one hundred fifty thousand dollars. Mr. Phillips, to request that your client be released on her own recognizance for a murder charge audacious even for you.” Judge Anderson’s thick grey eyebrows pulled together.

  “We thank your honor for a more reasonable bail amount,” Phillips replied with a nod to show respect. Then he cast a dark glance at the ADA.

  “In that case, your honor, the DA’s office feels Ms. Vaughn should at least wear a monitor because of her history.” ADA Thompson was about to continue when Judge Anderson stood.

  “You’re pressing your luck with me, Ms. Thompson. Your backdoor attempt at introducing the defendant’s juvenile record won’t work,” Judge Anderson said, turning his frown on her.

  “The court hearings on whether she would be tried as an adult…”

  “I said we won’t refer to juvenile court matters. You know very well all such decisions are sealed, and for good reason. Besides which, I happen to agree with Mr. Phillips. From the limited facts it appears Ms. Vaughn was a vulnerable minor child and a victim.”

  “Thank you again, Judge Anderson.” Phillips stood straighter than before and smoothed down his expensive suit jacket.

  “Me agreeing with you is not likely to happen again before I retire, Mr. Phillips. Let’s go back into session, five minutes.” The judge nodded to the court deputy, who in turn directed everyone out of the office.

  Ten minutes later the bail hearing was over. Jazz, still wearing the street clothes Chyna had brought her, sat with the rest of the female prisoners. At least she would be out of lock up soon. Not that her troubles were anywhere close to being over.

  *

  The next day, Jazz should have been sleeping late in her own bed. Anyone else would have been too scared or too worn out from nerves to do anything but hide. Jazz felt adrenaline pumping, but the energy that kept her awake was determination to get at the truth. When Willa called a meeting, Jazz didn’t argue. She sat in Willa’s office watching her pace. MiMi held a sleeping Sage in her lap. The baby was oblivious to the chaos swirling around the adults in the room. MiMi wore an anxious expression. She kept tapping one foot and rocking the baby.

  “Put Sage in her carriage before you get her upset,” Jazz said.

  Without waiting for MiMi to act, Jazz rose and gently took Sage from her. She eased her into the red and white lace cushioned seat, MiMi’s sorority colors. Jazz needn’t have worried about the baby. Sage continued to wear a blissful expression. Her only reaction was a brief wiggle, a tiny yawn, and then she grew still again.

  “I can’t believe you signed this,” Willa blurted out for the third time. She rattled the contract copy in her hand.

  “I haven’t lost Candy Girls or my apartment. You can’t afford to write a check for $15,000 dollars,” Jazz replied mildly. She brushed one of the baby’s down curls, and then faced Willa. “You want a second mortgage?”

  “Stop counting my money and let me handle my own business,” Willa said with a scowl.

  “I could say the same thing to you.” Jazz heaved a sigh and sat down in a chair. “Look, I appreciate what y’all tried to do. But Higgins looked over the clauses and options.”

  Willa grunted and sat on the edge of her desk. “That sleaze ball Higgins.”

  “Don’t knock my legal advisor,” Jazz said with a crooked grin. Then she grew serious. “You don’t honestly think I’m stupid, right? I know what the risks are with this deal. But the city is trying to shut me down. I still owe seventy-five thousand dollars mortgage for all the repairs I did to Candy Girls and making my house livable. Damn Lorraine was a slob.”

  “I see your point, Jazz, but still…” MiMi tapped her foot nervously again. “I mean, somebody could end up owning what you worked so hard to get. What do we know about this Ames person and his company anyway?”

  “I’ve got Cedric working on it,” Willa said. “You may not be able to un-sign that contract, but we should get every scrap of information we can on these people.”

  “There is a clause that says his company would have to hire me as manager at a minimum salary of fifty thousand a year. Or didn’t you get that far?” Jazz raised an eyebrow at her sister.

  Willa nodded. “I read every word, every punctuation mark. I know you didn’t shake your booty from the age of seventeen to twenty-six so you’d be working for someone else.”

  “I’m still young enough to start from the ground up if I have to. But hell, who says I’ll have to?

  “Well, you’ll need something to live on for the next few months. Maybe you could work for me. Yeah, I have a vacant position.” Willa perked up at the prospect to taking some action to help Jazz.

  “Hey, Jazz has style. We’ve got two positions at the department store. Of course the pay is only twelve dollars an hour, but you get employee discounts.” MiMi bobbed her head with enthusiasm.

  “The hell y’all talking about?” I can’t take no part-time job. I’ve got a business to run.” Jazz waved a hand brushing off their suggestions. “Besides, I’m not selling lipstick all day or filing papers.”

  “I know you’re not talking about opening Candy Girls,” Willa sputtered. “Shush before you wake the baby,” Jazz said.

  “Sage sucked down a whole bottle of milk. Once she’s fed, a tornado wouldn’t wake her up,” MiMi said with a grin of affection at her offspring.

  “You damn right I’m going back to running Candy Girls. The city can’t stop me, not before the hearing. If I want to hold onto my property, I need to show Ames I can bring in cash. I’ve got customers who want to show up just to support me.” Jazz smiled at Willa and MiMi. “That’s right. Some of them are curious, too. Doesn’t matter. All money spends the same way.”

  “Unbelievable.” Willa stared back at Jazz shaking h
er head.

  “Listen, his investor group says the publicity has thrill seekers curious. I’m the underdog; a poor young girl who goes from stripping to owning her own business. Just as she’s trying to turn her life around, the system turns against her.” Jazz spread her arms out dramatically, a solemn martyr-like expression of sorrow on her face. Then she smiled. “You like it? Higgins and Phillips came up with that spin. I say it’s fucking brilliant.”

  “Oh my God.” Willa massaged her temples.

  “I told y’all not to curse in front of the baby,” MiMi whispered for no reason. Then she grinned and stood next to Jazz. “I have to agree. Brilliant.”

  “You’re a murder suspect,” Willa spluttered. “You can’t be selling liquor and having strippers in your club.”

  “Our legal system says I’m innocent until proven guilty. They can’t yank my license for being accused of a crime. Plus even if they tried, I’d still have the right to a hearing. Higgins already checked.” Jazz brushed aside Willa’s objection with a shrug. “Oh calm down.”

  “They’re watching every move you make. One fight, one drunk customer causing trouble, or getting behind the wheel and you’ve given them ammunition. You need to keep a low profile. I’m telling you, Jazz. Don’t open Candy Girls,” Willa insisted.

  “I’m not gonna be pushed around. Lorraine is behind them trying to take my place. We both know closing is what she wants. She ain’t gonna beat me at this game. No.” Jazz stabbed a forefinger at Willa as if she was talking to Lorraine.

  “I see Willa’s point, Jazz. This is a bold move for sure, but you’re open to a set up,” MiMi put in. She chewed off the soft pink lipstick she wore. “Maybe you should…”

  “I’ve already passed out flyers for Friday night. Two days from now, Candy Girls is going to have a DJ rockin’ the house,” Jazz broke in.

  “The police are watching,” Willa said.