Devilish Details

by Emery, Lynn

  “Nyla dropped me off. I’ll get a cab home from here.”

  “Your ex-wife drives you to see another woman. Well I’ll be damned. Thought I’d met some smooth operators, but you’re in a class of your own, playa.” Jazz raised an eyebrow at him.

  “We’re still friends, and not only because of the kids. We’ve known each other since high school. Nyla’s a good person.” Don wore a half-smile at the look Jazz gave him.

  “So I keep hearing. Practically invented peace and love according to some sources,” Jazz wisecracked. She fidgeted with the embroidered edge of the soft, green and beige pretty bedspread.

  “We’re not getting back together, Jazz. We work great as friends and parents. We’re a ten car pile-up as husband and wife,” Don said with a laugh.

  “Hey, you don’t owe me any explaining. None of my business,” Jazz said and tried not to look as pleased as she felt. She heard the truth in her voice. A woman who was still hanging on wouldn’t agree to drive her ex to see his current lover.

  “I’m going to put Armand in a choke hold for talkin’ trash to you,” Don said. “Don’t bother to tell me. I can pretty much guess what he said.”

  “You got the lecture on staying away from me and how you should be with Nyla. Right?”

  “He talked to Nyla, too. She said he looked so hurt when she started laughing at the idea. She told him, ‘One bullet is no reason to ruin a good divorce’.” Don burst out laughing. When Jazz giggled he squeezed her hand.

  “So we’re good?” Jazz squeezed back. “Nobody said we weren’t.”

  His expression turned serious. “Shit is still goin’ down. Byron says somebody tried to break in Candy Girls and your house twice. The alarms scared them off. He’s got them on video, but their faces were covered.” .”

  “Any marks or tattoos?”

  “Both wore long sleeves, but one had something on the back of a hand. Looked like roman numerals, but it’s not real clear,” Don said. “Mean something?”

  “Yeah. Some Latin gangs get those in prison.” Jazz frowned. Another link to Filipe’s boys.

  “Damn, you’re right. I did a sketch. I’ll get one of my buddies at the station to run it. These muscle relaxers must have my brain fuzzy.”

  “You would have put it together,” Jazz said with a smile. She was getting used to thinking of them as a team. She had to decide if that was good or bad. Don’s voice broke into more musing on the subject of them as a couple.

  “I can’t find any noise about Filipe pulling strings from behind bars. So this is one of his crew making a mark for himself maybe. But why break into your place? You’d tell me if there was more, right?” Don stared at her hard.

  For a split second Jazz considered spilling about the missing money MiMi so desperately wanted to find. “I can’t think of anything.”

  She didn’t need to pull Don into anything more with Filipe. Besides, his good cop instinct might lead him to calling up the feds and leading a joint investigation. Anyway, it was technically MiMi’s money to hear her tell it. Though Jazz felt she’d earned at least a few hundred thousand for putting up with Filipe’s psycho ass.

  “Okay.” Don gazed off into space, his mind working.

  Jazz didn’t want him thinking too hard or long about her answer. After all, Don was no dummy. “Filipe was the brains, so I’ll bet some of his guys are freelancing to make ends meet. Lorraine could have hired them.”

  “I don’t get why though. And another thing, and don’t get mad at him,” Don said pointing a finger at Jazz.

  “What?”

  “Byron, um, entertained a pretty lady in the storeroom one night,” Don said.

  “I figure he’s used that cot more than once. He’s fixed up that room so it looks like a hook-up spot.” Jazz chuckled.

  “Compete with a compact player and soft lights. He’s even got several boxes that he covers with a table cloth. Damned if it doesn’t look like a coffee table,” Don replied with a grin.

  “His girlfriend will wring his neck one day. I’ll talk to him. We don’t need the drama right now.”

  “Here’s the thing. Last night she showed up at the club. As usual they ended up going to his spot. He went out to check on things, and when he got back, she was gone. He caught her searching your office,” Don said.

  “Trying to get in the safe?” Jazz frowned.

  “When he walked in she was trying to pry open the file cabinet against the wall. Guess she didn’t have time to find the safe.”

  Jazz stared into space, thinking. “Um.”

  “I guess Lorraine or Cleavon figure throwing everything they’ve got at you will work faster. When is your trial date?”

  “Phillips says they’ve got more discovery and pretrial hearings, but it could be in November.” Jazz rose from the bed with help from Don. “I want some air. I’ve been cooped up in four walls too much lately.”

  “Sure babe.”

  He walked beside her until they got to Willa’s large den. A sliding glass door opened onto a covered patio. Heat from the May afternoon sun beamed down, a taste of the scorching Louisiana heat that was to come. Willa’s backyard was predictably well kept. A large magnolia tree shaded one corner of the lawn. The rest was grass suitable for kids to play without barriers. Several large potted plants decorated each end of the patio. Don helped Jazz settle into one of five chairs around a round glass table. Then he eased down in the one next to her.

  “Nice day,” he said.

  “Did you have a house like this once with your wife?” Jazz looked at him.

  “Not this big on our income. She stayed at home for a while, but we couldn’t afford it after the second baby. But yeah, we had a yard in front and back.” Don glanced around. The roofs of nearby houses could be seen over the wooden privacy fence. “Nice neighborhood.”

  “Right place to have a family. But I couldn’t stand it for long. What I’m trying to say is…”

  Don held up a palm. “I used to think white–picket-fenced suburbia would cleanse me after days on the job. Seeing the worst in people leaves a stain, ya know? I mean the blood, guts, downright brutality soaks in deep.. Nyla couldn’t take the darkness and, I couldn’t leave it at the door like she wanted. So if you’re asking if I’m going to regret replacing that life, the answer is no.”

  “I kinda know what you mean. Certain things change you in ways you might not like, but… it is what it is.” Jazz gave a short laugh. “Something is seriously wrong with us, man.”

  “Nyla says some people are dumped into bad stuff, and some, like me, deal with it to hold back the night. As long as a person doesn’t become the darkness, then they’ll be okay. Always understand the line between living with it and being it.”

  Don and Jazz gazed at the lovely normal life like tourists in a place other than home. Both sat content to let the only sound be the breeze rustling leaves. Jazz put on a lopsided grin. She playfully tapped him on his massive bicep.

  “Damn, you’re gonna make me like your ex-wife. As if I’m not screwed up enough,” Jazz wisecracked.

  Don laughed hard until he winced in pain. Willa joined, and a minor tug of war ensued. Don surrendered to Willa’s logic that calling a cab was a waste when she could drive him home. Once they were gone, Jazz continued to sort through the puzzle that her life had become.

  “Lorraine has somebody trying to break in? That doesn’t make any sense,” Jazz murmured as she dozed off.

  *

  The next day Jazz woke up in hell. Willa had flat out refused to drive her home, insisting that Jazz stay and be taken care of properly. When Willa’s aunt came into the guest bedroom with a tray of breakfast, Jazz tried shrinking under the covers. It didn’t work. Aunt Ametrine knew she was still there. The fastidious church lady was in full force.

  “I made you a bowl of grits, fried an egg the way you like it, and buttered up some whole wheat toast. Willa says you like coffee strong enough to make the spoon stand up in the cup.” Aunt Ametrine set the tray do
wn on the chaise lounge across from the bed. “Let me help you into the bathroom so you can wash up. I set clean underwear and another sweat suit out for you.”

  Jazz blinked at her in horror. She waved away the sturdy hand offered to her. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Nonsense, you might fall. The most deadly accidents happen in the bathroom. I read that in a magazine just the other day.” Aunt Ametrine expertly helped Jazz walk across the hardwood floor to the pretty tile of the bathroom. “But I understand. Don’t try to stand in that shower too long.”

  “Thanks,” Jazz managed to get out.

  Aunt Ametrine kept up a stream of advice through the closed door. The sound of the shower didn’t deter her. After five “Are you okay in there?” shouts, Jazz gave up the notion she’d leave. She got dressed in the fresh clothes and went back to the bedroom.

  “The food is still hot. This is a warming tray. See? I just unplug it and now I can put it across your lap. Oh, it won’t burn you,” Aunt Ametrine said the second Jazz reappeared.

  She explained the wonders of the tray she brought from home. Then she went on to tell Jazz more than she wanted to know about her husband’s surgery. Of course being the good Christian wife she was, Aunt Ametrine nursed him to a full recovery. Jazz wondered if the poor dude was still sane. When Willa showed up, Jazz wanted to hug her neck and beg to be rescued. Her older sister’s eyes gleamed with suppressed mirth.

  “You feeling okay this morning?” Willa pursed her lips at the look Jazz gave her.

  Aunt Amtetrine piped up. “She’s moving around real good. A bit slow, but no wonder after being beat like rug. Bless her heart.”

  “Yeah, wonderful,” Jazz replied in a dry tone.

  When Aunt Ametrine stared at her and then the plate for several seconds, Jazz picked up the fork. She pushed it into her mouth. Buttery goodness warmed her tongue. The grits tasted delicious. For the first time, Jazz realized how hungry she was. As Aunt Ametrine had said, the egg was cooked the way she liked it. When Jazz sipped the coffee, the rich taste made her sigh with pleasure.

  “I’m glad you like it. Now Willa, if you have work at the office, I can stay here with Jazz all day.” Aunt Ametrine turned to Jazz. “I retired six months ago. Thirty years working for the state as an administrative assistant. My last boss was the Assistant Secretary of…”

  “Thanks, but Willa’s taking me home on her way to the office,” Jazz broke in before she got Aunt Ametrine’s full career history.

  “No I’m not,” Willa replied.

  Jazz glared at her. “We agreed I only needed to stay overnight.”

  “I have to agree with Willa, baby.” Aunt Ametrine vanished into the bathroom. She emerged with Jazz’s dirty clothes and towels. “I’m going to put fresh towels in. Be right back.”

  The second her solid steps moved down the hall, Jazz blurted, “Get me outta here.”

  “Don’t be silly. Aunt Ametrine loves taking care of people.” Willa sat down on the chair. “Seriously, she’s a kind-hearted person. You have to admit she can cook.”

  Jazz remembered the food and tasted more egg. After savoring rich flavor chased down by the best coffee she’d had in a long time, Jazz sighed. “Damn, I can’t argue with you on that. Now if she’d just stick some of this in her mouth and shut up.”

  Willa burst out laughing and then covered her mouth. “Stop it, she might hear you.”

  “Once I finish eating you will take me home.” Jazz scooped up more buttery grits.

  “Cedric is holding down the office, so I don’t need to be there this morning. You should stay another night, but listen.” Willa wore her familiar determined expression. “We need to get onto this contract business.”

  “I signed the thing of my own free will. End of discussion. There’s nothing I can do.” Jazz wiped her mouth with the checked cotton napkin on the tray.

  “I’ve gone over the clauses and done research. Brad says we have several options to make Ames back off.” Jazz soaked up the last bit of runny yolk with toast. After she’d swallowed it and more coffee, she put down the cup. “You want to go after Higgins and Ames on this, don’t ya?”

  “Sister, this is my kind of fight. Sitting across a desk or in the courtroom, punch and jab with the facts until they’re dizzy.” Willa wore a fierce smile.

  “Then do your thing,” Jazz said “Wish we had more ammunition on my criminal case.”

  Aunt Ametrine bustled in. “I started a load of laundry. I can give the floor a sound dust mopping while it goes through the cycle. Ah, so you ate breakfast. Good girl.”

  “That was some real good cooking, ma’am,” Jazz said.

  “Thank you. And stop this ‘ma’am’ nonsense. I’m Aunt Ametrine,” she replied briskly with a smile. “I was listening to the news. They brought up the investigation into Kyeisha Lathers’ murder.”

  “Aunt Ametrine—” Willa frowned at her aunt.

  Aunt Ametrine faced Willa sharply. “You don’t have to tell me Jazz didn’t kill her. Jazz has her faults. Like shaking her half-naked backside in front of men for money, or having criminals for boyfriends. But murder? Nonsense! Now don’t you worry, sugar. I have you on the prayer list at my church. We’re gonna pray old Satan back to hell.”

  Jazz gazed at her slack-jawed and dumbfounded before she found her voice. “I, uh, I don’t know what to say.”

  Aunt Ametrine beamed at her. “You’re welcome, darlin’. Now, I’ll let you two talk. Back in a little while to get that tray.” She left humming a tune. By the time she made it to the kitchen, Aunt Ametrine was singing a gospel song at full volume.

  “I need to get outta here,” Jazz blurted out.

  Willa cleared the dishes from the tray. “Oh keep quiet and listen. I drew up this letter firing Higgins. You can’t trust him to act in your interest. And here is a letter you should send to Ames disputing his grab for your property.”

  Jazz signed both. “I can’t pay back the money Ames put up.”

  “You don’t have to. Nothing in the contract says his investment has to be repaid. What is an investment? A risk the investor takes on a venture,” Willa said, answering her question before Jazz could speak.

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  Willa slipped the signed letters into an envelope. “I’ll happily deliver the letter to Higgins personally this morning. Now, is it okay if Brad’s associate Zachary Miles becomes your new lawyer?”

  “You asked first. Usually you just order me around.”

  “Of course you should make the decision. We’re talking about a business you sacrificed to build. I think you should fight, but it’s your call.” Willa nodded.

  “So this Miles has experience representing ex-strippers who are charged with murder, and who signed a contract for bail money but didn’t read the fine print?” Jazz raised both eyebrows.

  “Absolutely,” Willa replied with a grin. “Seriously, I wouldn’t recommend Zach if he wasn’t good.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Jazz said. “Now about the murder charge…”

  “I set up a meeting with Phillips for tomorrow. It’s time for an update face to face. Over the phone isn’t enough. I want to set eyes on the guy, read his body language.” Willa stood. “Mama Ruby says your place is running like a top. She’s impressed with Byron. No so much with Tyretta. How good a friend is she?”

  Jazz got out of bed with stiff movements. She crossed to the plate and grabbed the last corner of buttered toast. “We go back a ways. Why?”

  “Mama Ruby says something is off about her. I trust Mama’s instincts. Maybe we need to run a check on her.” Willa tapped the envelope in her right hand against one thigh.

  “Don’t be doing backgrounds on my friends. We all have a past, so you could be tied up a while,” Jazz said with a laugh.

  “If you say so. Anyway, I’m headed to the office.” Willa turned to leave.

  “You ain’t leaving me here with the church lady on steroids.” Jazz started to say more when a burst of “H
e’s An On Time God” echoed down the hall.

  “You need at least another day of rest. If I take you home, you’ll be in the club working the minute I drive off. Byron has things under control..” Willa tucked the envelop under one arm.

  Before Jazz could protest, a wave of dizziness hit. She stumbled a little. Sore spots all over reminded her she’d hit the pavement hard. Willa grabbed her by one arm and guided Jazz until she sat down in the chair.

  “Must be those pain pills,” Jazz said.

  “Uh-huh. Look, you don’t have to stay in bed all day. But you should relax. Let us wait on you for another day at least.” Willa put the tray on the dresser. Then she straightened up the bed linens until it was neatly made. “I’ll be home about four o’clock.”

  “No, come get me at lunch time. I’ll be fine by then,” Jazz insisted.

  Willa leaned down and kissed her cheek. She handed Jazz the remote for a twenty-five inch flat screen in the bedroom. “Watch some television. I’ll see you later.”

  Jazz wanted to debate the topic of her staying longer, but Willa hustled out too fast. Besides, the cushiony soft chair caressed Jazz’s aching body. She turned on the television, but her eyes soon drifted closed. Aunt Ametrine started a second gospel song with just as much energy.

  “Willa is gonna pay for this,” Jazz murmured with her eyes still closed. “She’s got a good voice though.”

  Chapter 16

  The next day, Wednesday, dawned bright and cheery. The view outside her defense attorney’s window framed blue skies and the tops of oak trees. Keith Phillips had an office with three other attorneys downtown. The stone building was nestled in a historic neighborhood called Beauregard Town. They waited for Phillips seated in dark green leather chairs around along oval conference table of highly polished dark wood Sunshine and a chic decor clashed with the reason Jazz was there.

  “Y’all have a seat. We have coffee set up.” The efficient blonde legal secretary gave them a professional smile before she vanished.

  “Thanks,” Willa said to thin air. “She moves fast that one.”

  “She’s a pro, didn’t stare at me. I’m sure she’s read my file. Must be novel having a black stripper accused of murder in these fancy walls.” Jazz got up and went to the carafe on an equally polished credenza against one wall. She poured the strong brew into a china cup. “Have some. Smells like the good stuff.”