I knew the rules of the game had just changed when I finally got a chance to recognize the face of the man standing next to ‘Dana’.
Flashes of the situation with Amenhotep popped in my head, and it wasn’t a pleasant image to view.
If the trail that I followed led to its conclusion, there were going to be some people in high society that might be involved. This could blow the lid off some things that the general public might not want to know.
I instinctively stopped in my tracks for a moment.
I must have heard something, because I certainly didn’t see anything. But for some reason I looked around to my left and saw a blue car pulling up from behind at a high rate of speed. I threw myself to the ground to not only avoid the gunshot but also so the knife in the hand of the guy that was suddenly in front of me.
I swept the legs and knocked the guy to the ground.
Pure luck.
Nothing more.
Instincts were taking over at that point.
Now, hand to hand combat was a nuanced skill that must be practiced for years. The reason you practiced so long and hard is because when you were in a fight, an actual ball-raising, sphincter-puckering, oh-my-God-I’m-going-to-die fight, you don’t have time for complex thoughts like ‘maybe I should try for the figure four arm lock’.
Simple thoughts like ‘this motherfucker must die’ were the general rule.
Anyway, that’s what I was thinking.
I got my hands on his knife arm and I did some stuff with my elbows, knees, and head. He did some stuff with his and he was a lot stronger than me. I flattered myself that I was the meaner dog in the fight, though.
And smarter, too…
Certainly more handsome, especially after I smashed his face into the concrete sidewalk a few times.
After that the fight went out of him and I crawled off and sprawled back against the brick wall of the building behind me to try to find some oxygen.
Bullets were abstract objects and looked sort of harmless, but there’s just something primal, extremely terrifying about a sharp piece of metal about to shred through your skin at point blank range.
It took about three minutes for the police to show up, especially since the precinct was just down the block. That and the shop owner had called the police while I was locked in with this dude. I just waved at them, too tired to really do much else. The witnesses were of little help; a black man versus a white man? Half of them fingered me for the attacker almost immediately.
Finding the gun in my shoulder harness, even though I never pulled it, pretty much closed the case for the beat guys. They arrested me and loaded pavement-puss into an ambulance.
~Sixteen~
I’ve been arrested before.
But not so many times that I was used to it.
As a possible violent offender they stuck me in a cell of my own and left my hands handcuffed behind my back, which was how Natasha and Niki found me.
“Jesus, Dom, you look like hell,” Niki said, giving me the once over.
“I smell that way, too,” I replied, licking the dried blood off my bottom lip.
“That’s you smelling like that?” Natasha observed.
“That’s me.”
“Tell us what happened,” Niki said, using her arm to cover her nose.
So I did. I recounted the entire episode, not leaving anything out.
I knew I should have asked to have an attorney present, which you should when you make your statement. That’s because it was easy to make an innocent mistake that the police could spin as a lie, also known as obstructing an investigation, which they could then use as a lever to apply pressure to you; I know I did at times.
They don’t have anything against you personally, but they were just trying to do their job. So saying anything without a lawyer was almost always a mistake.
But I did, because I trusted Natasha and Niki.
If they were both to be mine, I had to start trusting them sooner rather than later. I really had no intention of making this the starting point, but you gotta start somewhere, right?
“Okay,” Natasha said when I was done, “they’re gonna need to talk to you, but I don’t think you’ll have any problems. Your attacker walked out of the emergency room while someone was taking a bathroom break. You’ve got at least a couple of witnesses that say the guy came at you with a knife. Want me or Niki to call your lawyer?”
“Please. Alison Terrell,” I calmly answered, still tasting my own blood.
“You’re kidding?” Niki asked incredulously.
“Handcuffed in a jail cell and sitting in my own stench? Not in your wildest dreams. Yes, she represents the firm and its employees,” I explained to Niki.
She laughed. It shouldn’t hurt when someone else laughs, but sometimes it does.
“I’ll call her; you can owe me later when Niki and I get you home.”
She hesitated for a moment, looked at Niki knowingly, and then, at a noticeably lower volume, asked, “Is there anything else You need us to do, Sir?”
“Having you both on your knees cleaning this stench off Me would start nicely,” I grinned, noticing the skirt she was wearing was caressing her ass just right.
“Besides that, Sir?” Niki quietly offered, her demeanor becoming more submissive by the moment. “Perhaps a change of clothing, Sir?”
It was my turn to give her a long, hard stare. I knew what I wanted to say and I knew what I should say and I couldn’t permit myself to say the one or force myself to say the other.
At least, not yet.
“A copy of today’s Atlanta Journal-Constitution,” I said instead. “I’d very much like to know the name of the woman wearing the black evening gown on the society page.”
Natasha looked puzzled and then, when she saw I was serious, nodded.
“Yes, Sir, as You command.”
My lawyer was a petite and very unassuming Latina. She’s not very loud, she dresses very conservatively and was sexy as hell with it, but she’s exceptionally efficient at what she does. Ramesses trusts her with all of his legal affairs and it doesn’t hurt that she belongs to a brother Dominant that he respects highly, either.
With truth, and Allison, on my side it only took three hours to be cleared of suspicion and give a statement regarding the details of the attack.
When I finally got home I was done. I’d fought for my life and dealt with the same police bureaucracy that I’d dealt with as a ‘boy in blue’ and both of them were pretty equally damn tiring. I took a shower, I thanked God I didn’t have any alcohol in the house, and I stumbled towards the bedroom. En route I saw the blinking light on my cell phone and decided that maybe the calls were important. So I snagged it and fell into bed.
The first message was from Sinsual; she sounded annoyed. “Dominic, what sort of a mess is this? One of those pictures You sent Me is of Krista Chambers. It so happens that I remember her, she used to come to munches about two years ago. She stopped coming after she entered Aris’ service and I can’t remember seeing her at any functions shortly after that. One of the others is Sabrina Simmons. An acquaintance recognized her and related a similar story. Where are these women, Dominic?”
Unfortunately, I was starting to strongly suspect that they were dead.
The second message was from Natasha.
“Veronica Emerson.”
That’s all that the message said.
It took me a minute to figure out she was talking about the woman, ‘Dana’ from the society page. Then it came to me where I’d heard that name before and I leapt out of bed and ran to the computer. It only took me a minute to confirm my identification. Veronica Emerson, socialite wife married to Roger Emerson, a respected U.S. Congressman that lives here in Atlanta.
Putting two and two together, and seeing a local U.S. Congressman linked to his socialite wife playing submissive with Aris?
How in the hell were they mixed up in this?
The next morning I considered my options.
I wanted to talk to Veronica Emerson.
How?
Hello, Mrs. Emerson please.
About?
It’s about a dead Dominant she was seeing a few years ago.
Yes, I’ll hold.
Right.
I could have just dropped it into Niki’s lap, since she’s going to be in the D.A.’s office soon, but when politics enter an investigation the police have to tread very, very carefully.
To stall for time I Googled Mrs. Emerson to see what I could find out about her. It turned out, there was quite a bit of information that turned up about her. What struck me as being the most interesting, though,
was the picture of Veronica Emerson handing a check to a woman I recognized.
I didn’t know her name, but I’d seen her face on the Acquiescent Sluts website.
The website said that Veronica was a big supporter of a shelter for battered women. It identified the woman as Selena Russell, the director of Safe Haven.
That gave me an idea.
I thought about it a little bit to make sure I had all the bases covered, and then I picked up the phone and dialed.
“You’ve reached the business offices of Safe Haven,” a woman’s voice said.
“My name is Dominic Law, I’m an investigator and I’m calling to speak with Selena Russell.”
Hesitation on the other end of the line…
That was expected, so it was just a matter of time before I got brushed off.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Law, but Ms. Russell isn’t available right now. May I take a message?”
She didn’t expect me to leave a message, but I did.
“Thank you, yes. Please ask her to call me. I have some information about Dana,” I gave her my cell phone number and hung up.
So now I’m guessing that you want to know why I called Selena instead of Veronica. Well, there are lots of reasons.
To begin with, Selena had appeared on the website and, presumably, knew what came next. I was interested in finding out what came next because I suspected it wasn’t anything good. I suspected that what-came-next was going to be the reason that Aris had been killed. Selena also wasn’t quite as politically sensitive as Veronica; I was less likely to find myself in hot water for speaking to her about something this sensitive. Then there was the idea that I might have a little leverage on Selena since I had video footage of her involved in some very nasty bondage sex.
Sure, it was dirty, but didn’t I say that up front? I’m sure I did. I’m not a cop anymore, but some habits die hard.
Which brought me to the final reason I wanted to talk to Selena; I didn’t know the nature of her relationship with Veronica.
Were they lovers?
Friends?
Fellow survivors?
Was Selena blackmailing Veronica? I just didn’t know. So I’d talk to Selena first and hopefully soon, because patience was not exactly one of my strong suits.
The phone rang and I was drawn out of my pensive state. Caller ID said it was a protected number, which could mean anything. I answered it and smiled despite myself as I heard Natasha’s sultry voice on the other end.
“Hi, Sir, I thought You might like to know they managed to pull a fingerprint from the knife and got a match on the guy that attacked You,” she recounted. “His name is Domino Rodriguez, 32, from Houston, Texas. His priors are all assault and, drum roll please, prostitution related. He’s an enforcer for someone, Sir.”
“Interesting, that means that someone involved in prostitution is concerned about My poking around this case,” I said, thinking out loud. “How would they know about Me?”
Then it dawned on me. Oh, shit! The cameras!
“Damn it!”
“What is it, Dom?”
“In the apartment where Aris had peaches stashed. I was live on the internet when I talked to her. Even if the sound was off they still knew something had happened. They must have sent someone to investigate,” I replied. “Rodriguez. He would have gotten My information from peaches since she had the company invoice. That means there’s probably a connection between Rodriguez and Pucci Entertainment. Any chance you could run backgrounds on the owners of Pucci?”
“Probably not on the basis of the real evidence I’ve got, but I might be able to talk Cap into it, using You as a favor, Sir. I’m going to try anyway. Have You gotten anything new?”
This is where I could have lied. I didn’t and I wasn’t about to care to speculate as to why I didn’t.
“I found another one of the website women. Her name is Selena Russell and she runs a shelter for battered women. Ariel identified Dana, the other sub from the Dallas trip, as Veronica Emerson.”
“You mean, as in the wife of Congressman Emerson?” she asked.
“The one and the same, baby. Russell and Emerson know each other. I called Russell and asked to speak to her; said I knew something about Dana.”
“Well, that should get her attention. Oh, not that there was much doubt on the subject but the coroner made a positive identification on the victim: Terrance Lloyd.”
“Great. Just great,” I deadpanned. “What about peaches?”
“Kimberly Stevenson, 23, originally of Trenton, New Jersey, slashed throat,” Natasha confirmed.
“Knife work, it figures. I don’t suppose?” I was hoping for a match on the prints.
“Not a chance, Sir. Maybe if there had been a knife puncture wound. Whoever did it just sliced her throat open and left her to bleed to death.”
“That’s cold,” I commented. “I mean really cold, and brutally efficient, not at all like what happened to Lloyd. That was personal.”
“Pretty brutal in a different way,” Natasha said. “Any place his skin wasn’t lacerated it was bruised. He had two cracked ribs, three broken fingers, two broken toes, internal injuries, safety pins through the nipples and testicles, and he’d been branded seven times. But yeah, two different M.O.’s, Sir.”
“Cause of death was suffocation?”
“Yeah, but how’d You... Oh.”
Yeah, exactly, she forgot.
“So when did Ariel tell You about Emerson?” she asked.
I had to smile. How could I avoid it? It’s nice to know that a woman cared enough about you to be a little jealous.
“I’ll tell you all about it later. I’ve got to make a call. Bye.”
I hung up on her before she could say another word.
I didn’t really have a phone call to make; I just wanted Natasha to stew a little. I shouldn’t have been playing little games like that when I was trying to make her mine. She and Niki were getting closer as well.
In my defense I could only observe that I was as much of a slave to my desires as just about everyone else.
I spent the morning cleaning my apartment and letting my brain freestyle for a bit.
Freestyling was my term, a useful tool in determining clues and figuring out investigations.
Previous employers had referred to it, in derogatory tones and terms, as daydreaming. I laughed at them. Freestyling let me down, though, so I was glad to hear the phone ring a little before noon.
“This is Law.”
“Detective Law, I’m Selena Russell. You left a phone message saying you wanted to speak to me.”
“I did,” I replied. “I’d like to ask you some questions about Terrance Lloyd. Can I buy you lunch so we can discuss it?”
There was a long silence… never a good sign.
“Okay. There’s a PF Chang’s near Perimeter Mall, do you know it?”
“Yes, I know it. Let’s say, half an hour?”
“Okay.”
She hung up.
PF Chang’s is located in Dunwoody, in the high rent district near Perimeter Mall. It’s a decent Chinese restaurant, if you’re into that kinda thing. I damn sure wasn’t, but sometimes you have to do the things you have to do in order to do the things you need to do. I needed information, and if it meant coming here, then that’s what I had to d
o.
On the way to Dunwoody I got a text message from Natasha regarding the update on the case against Simone.
She’s pled not guilty, Sir… insanity defense, according to her lawyer.
That honestly was not surprising to me. I sent a text back to let me know when she’d gone through processing at the DeKalb County Jail. There was one final task that needed to be done before she was sent away to a psych ward.
At least, that’s what I assumed would be her fate.
Anyway, I headed inside of PF Chang’s and did a quick scan of the place. The greeter recognized me and escorted me to where Selena sat. I should have known that she would have pulled a move like that, just to try to have the upper hand on me.
She had a booth and an order of Kung Pao chicken in front of her when I walked over and sat down.
Selena was an athletically built woman, about 5’6” by my estimation, but she was sitting down. Short cropped auburn hair, hazel eyes, and she was wearing a casual outfit, blue jean skirt, clogged heels, and a modest t-shirt top.
I gave a half smile at her, to put her at ease. She’s an attractive woman, but she also gave an aura of having an edge that men might not want to mess around with. I took that under advisement the minute I sat down.
“Law?” she asked.
I nodded.
“What do you want to know about Terrance?”
“Did you know he’s dead?”
“Good,” she snapped. No hesitation, no remorse, just simple satisfaction. “Was it painful?”
I shrugged. “I saw some video footage of you on a website. Let’s get this clear from the jump: I’m not interested in embarrassing you or blackmailing you, I just need to find out some more about that. And what came after.”
“Who are you working for?”
“I was working for Kimberly Stevenson, also known as peaches. She was Terrance’s latest. Now she’s dead.”
“Who killed her?”
“Someone who isn’t too thrilled that I am looking into this case, I would wager.”
“You don’t take a hint?” she asked.
“I take it personally when people try to kill me,” I told her.
Deviant Intent: OBSESSION Page 13
