Johnson scratched his neck and turned to watch her walk away. “She’s just mad that I never called her back. Women, boy. I tell ya. They do know how to hold a grudge.”
“You slept with May,” Nicola said, shaking his head. The guy was incorrigible.
“Once or twice. She’s got a beautiful little body under all those clothes,” Johnson said, raising his brow.
“I don’t want to know,” Nicola said quickly. “So, when we leave here, we go straight to the coroner.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing,” Johnson said, checking his phone. “Are you going to ditch the suit, because you’re cramping my style with the GQ Versace look? I run into some chicks, they’re going to think this is CSI: Miami.”
“Yeah, I’ll ditch the damned suit. I’ve got my clothes in the truck. Hey, who are you always texting,” Nicola asked, sucking his teeth. “You’re not married.”
Johnson looked up from his phone. “A woman,” he said flatly.
“A real girlfriend?” Nicola asked cleverly.
Johnson clammed up. A little tent of red color formed on his cheeks. “Just a friend,” he said, putting his phone away.
“That’s what I said. Six years later, she’s still a friend,” Nicola said with a smirk.
“Man, I’m never getting married,” Johnson said, ready to end the conversation. “That shit is for the birds. Checking in, giving away half your check, fucked up schedules…”
“Cool your heels there, chief. I haven’t proposed yet,” Nicola said, walking over to Amway.
The entourage of assistants and directors split down the middle as Nicola made his way to see his boss. Engulfed in his script, Amway looked up from his notes and waved him over. The crowd disbursed, giving them a small gap of privacy. “How are you?” he asked, pulling off his glasses. He looked Agosto up and down. “You clean up well. I’m glad. Johnson didn’t get a clue and put on a fucking suit.”
They both looked over at Johnson who had made his way back to the refreshment table and was stuffing his pants with granola bars and shook their heads.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Nicola said, shocked that a three-year old suit was garnering so much attention. “Just wanted to let you know that we’ve got a good lead,” Nicola said, shrugging. “He’s just dead.”
Amway’s eager face quickly turned into a severe frown. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Well, the good news is that he may have left some evidence in his stomach,” Nicola said quietly.
Amway stepped closer to Nicola and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to know until you can confirm that it’s evidence. If you get a viable, hard, concrete lead, call me day or night. My cell is still the same. I want to shut some of these city councilmembers, especially Ferris, and these nosy, raggedy-ass reporters up once and for all. I’ve got a town hall meeting tonight with more families who want to know ‘what the fuck’ and I’m quoting them verbatim. Plus, the mayor is ready to crucify me and this entire department. We’ve got to turn up something now. And I’m counting on you to do it before the FBI steps in and makes us all look like a bunch of backwater hicks…and I hate backwater hicks.”
Nicola nodded, swallowing down the mounting pressure that Amway had just thrown on him. “Of course, man. We’re in this together.”
“Excuse me gentlemen. Let’s get you out to the staging area. We’re ready to begin the news conference. Please either turn your cell phones off or on silent,” May said, ushering people out of the room.
“Alright, see you out there,” Amway said to Nicola before he was escorted out.
Nicola walked back over to Johnson and picked up a bottle of water sitting on the table in front of him. He wished at that moment that it was a jack and coke.
“Not everyone can just talk to the director,” Johnson said, curious again. “What’s up with that? Are you all boys?”
“We’ve known each other forever,” Nicola said, taking a sip of the water.
“So, your ass isn’t riding on this case then.”
“He’s still my boss. The mayor is still his boss and the city council still has us by the short and curlies. My ass is right beside yours,” Nicola said, pulling out the paper one last time.
“Yeah, but it’s different, right?” Johnson said, with a shrug. “You’re in good with the big man. That’s gotta count for something in the grand scheme of things.”
Nicola rolled his eyes at Johnson. “It doesn’t mean shit in our position.”
***
In the middle of Ivy’s meeting, the owner of the Brewery, Mike Hayes, brought up the subject of the Baby Boy murders and how worried it had both he and his wife for their children. She sat at the end of the table flabbergasted. Everyone was talking about this case - in kitchens, classrooms, boardrooms and locker rooms. Her husband’s case was the talk of the city.
She could feel the tightness in her gut when her boss looked down at her and nodded.
“Our Ivy’s husband is the lead detective on the case,” he said proudly. “He’s an excellent detective. You might remember him from a few years back. He was best friends with K.C. Brooks before he passed. The guy was a legend. If anyone can solve this case, he can.”
Mike looked over at Ivy impressed by her affiliation. She hadn’t used that as a selling point yesterday when they had lunch. Most publicists would have.
Ivy smiled and rearranged the papers in front of her like she was suffering from OCD. All eyes were locked right then on her, especially Mike Hayes.
Hayes was a middle aged, caramel-skinned black man who had worked his way from selling beer for a national brewery to forming his own brewery in less than ten years. Ivy was responsible for vetting him and finally getting him to sign the contract that sat in front of him and his lawyers now. He was a bit militant and completely against going with a white/Jewish firm, but Ivy had sealed the deal. He liked her as soon as he met her. She had ambition and passion - two things he would need to make his campaign work.
Mr. Letewich quietly urged Ivy to jump in on the discussion. She picked up on his cue quickly and sat up in her chair.
“Yes, Nicola has been working day and night on this case,” she said with a smile, even though she wanted to scream at that very moment. “I doubt that there is anyone more dedicated to solving this than my husband.”
“There is a news conference going on right now,” Mike said, looking over at the large flat screen mounted on the wall. “Do you mind, Carl?”
“Not at all. We’ve got time,” Mr. Letewich said, turning in his chair to face the television.
The young assistant was quick. Before the salt and pepper gray man could even ask for the remote, he had it in the palm of his hand.
He turned on the television and switched to a local channel broadcasting the news conference live.
Nicola was in the shot, looking tall and dashing. As soon as Ivy saw him, a smile crept across her face. She turned from her paperwork and watched the story unfold.
“That’s her husband there,” Letewich said to Mike, pointing at the television.
“On the left of Director Amway?” Mike asked, scooting closer to the table.
“No, the man standing directly behind him in the black suit. The…white guy,” Letewich blurted out.
Mike swallowed hard as he kept his eyes planted on the screen, but Ivy could see his disapproval.
The white guy.
She looked down at the paper and took a deep breath. She had been through that before too. Black men who didn’t want to see a successful sister with a white man. She wanted to stand up right then and give a dissertation on why she was fed up with the “sell-out” response from men of color. Instead, she swallowed down her pride. After all, she had worked too hard to get there. Forget his personal views of her family. Judge her or not, she just had the man sign a $500,000 public relations deal over the next year.
“Interesting,” Mike finally said, twirling the pen in his right hand like a baton.
Just
then on the television, Nicola stepped up after Director Amway and spoke into the microphones on the podium with cameras flashing and nearly blinding him.
Ivy could see her husband’s nervousness. He hated being the center of attention, no matter the venue. She stared intently at the television, waiting on his every word and critiquing his every gesture. She was after all in marketing and public relations. And from his first word, she knew that he needed a ton of media training. Still, she had to admit, he looked amazing in his suit. He stood out like a sore thumb, striking and foreboding.
***
Nicola felt his stomach wrench with nervousness. There were not only reporters and cameras. There were dozens of families, some of them the parents of the victims, with signs demanding justice. They held up pictures of the children and stared at him like his words somehow would help ease their pain or give them comfort. Sadly, he knew that his words would not. In fact, his words might only insight more anger. Promises meant nothing to the grieving. Action was the key. And there could be no action on his part if he was here right now talking into a damned microphone.
“You’re on,” May said, motioning at the podium. He stepped up to it and placed his paper among the litter of station microphones around the podium. Sure that every station in Memphis and a few nationwide would pick up even his slightest breath only made him more nervous.
“My name is Lt…,” he paused. “Excuse me, my name is Sargent Nicola Agosto, and I’ve been assigned to the Baby Boys Case. I can assure you…” Nicola nervously cleared his throat and started again, this time with a stronger more authoritative voice. “I can assure you that I am dedicated to this case and the families of the victims. We are working tirelessly, using all resources at our disposal to solve this case and racing against the clock to prevent more murders. We are still leaning on the public for any information that you might have. Please call (901) 528-Cash with any information that might help us solve these murders and bring justice to all four of these children.” Raising his head from the paper, he looked out at the crowd.
“Hanna Tomley from the Commercial Appeal. One question, Sgt. Agosto,” one of the female reporters from the most popular newspapers, Commercial Reveal, in the crowd said. She pointed her recorder towards him, eyes glazed over with a bit of intrigue by the handsome man and his extreme humility considering his high profile position in the biggest case to hit Memphis in decades. The readers would love his face. Her photographer moved in for several good shots of his easy-on-the-eyes face. “How close are you to solving this case? And what can you tell us about the type of person or persons that we should be looking for?”
Nicola looked over at Amway and waited for him to respond. After all, May said that he didn’t have to do questions.
“We’ll be taking questions at the end,” May interjected from the side of the platform. “We’ll be happy to address your concerns at the end.”
Nicola nodded and stepped back, straightening his black tailored suit as he did, happy to pass the limelight on to someone who knew how to handle it.
The woman gave a frustrated sigh but kept her eyes locked on Nicola Agosto. The story was definitely the Baby Boys case, but he would be the star, if she could only get to him.
***
Ivy turned back from the television and looked at Mike with a sort of confident glare, like she was looking past him judging her, like his opinion suddenly didn’t matter to her at all.
“My husband is devoted to this community in all aspects. Race is not an issue. He just wants what’s best,” she said as if reading the man’s mind. “We have four of our own.” And one on the way, she thought to herself as she rubbed her stomach covertly.
“Good to hear,” he said, brushing off her validation of what he considered to be Memphis’s attempt at another great white hope. “No offense, Letewich, but few white men in his position are culturally sensitive to our community, yet they continue to put them in our communities to police us - the exact opposite of the community policing concept. These guys bust in like gangbusters and highjack our kids, throw them in prison and then go home and have good ole’ American pie with their snow white house wives.”
Even Letewich was thrown by the statement. He found himself sitting with his mouth gaped wide open. Shutting it and readjusting in his chair, he focused. Money talked. “Well, enough of Memphis politics and current affairs. We’re here to make this deal the best thing that your brewery has ever entered into,” Ivy’s boss said, determined to get back on track.
And what community do you live in? Ivy wanted to ask. She was certain that he didn’t live in the projects and from her research on him, she’d found that he had grown up in a middle-class suburb. His grotesque dismissal of her presence made her want to stab him in the eye with her pen and piss on his contract, literally, but instead, she caught Letewich’s silent plea to not ruin this deal.
Ivy again held her tongue, though this time, she wanted so badly to share her views on community and his own help in demonizing his own people through the sale of alcohol.
“Right, gentlemen,” she said, clearing her throat and giving Letewich a stern look that let him know that she had reached her boiling point. “Let’s talk strategy.”
9
As soon as the new conference was over, both Nicola and Johnson bailed, making a b-line for the front doors of the police headquarters and out into the grueling summer sun.
Nicola could not wait to get the hell out of 201 Poplar, away from all those fake politicians and hungry reporters and get on with his day. In just the few short hours that he had spent grab-assing with the brass, he had missed two calls.
He walked with Johnson quietly down the sidewalk past dozens of people who stood waiting for their court time, talking to lawyers, begging for money or just being bonded out of jail by the bail bondsmen who had shops up and down Poplar Avenue.
“Where’d you park,” Nicola asked, phone to his ear.
Johnson scratched his brow. “Damn, it’s hot as hell out here. Got to be at least a hundred degrees.” He pointed directly across the street in front of a lawyer’s office. “I’m right there. You want me to ride with you?”
Nicola held up a hand, halting Johnson from talking or moving. “Wait.”
The voice on the other end of the message was a black female from what he could tell. She sounded flustered, maybe even scared.
“Sgt. Agosto, my name is Roxie. I was Twist’s…contact. I was supposed to meet him last night but then,” she paused. “Well, you know what happened. It’s a damn shame what they did to him.” Swallowing hard, she smacked her lips. “Look, if you wanna meet, I’ll be at the Peek strip club on Winchester at 4:30 today. Just go in and sit down. I’ll be the girl who offers you the lap dance.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll be the right girl to offer you a lap dance. From the look of you, you might get offered a few, but you’ll know me when you see me. Everybody does. Twist said that you could offer me some kind of protection, maybe get me out of town. I hope that’s the case. If you don’t show today, I’m getting in the wind. Things are getting too heavy here.”
Nicola looked to see if there was a number but it was blocked.
“Dammit,” he said, going to his next message.
“Baby, you did great,” Ivy said. “Your posture was a little off, but we’ll work on that. Anyway, call me when you get this. Love you. Bye.”
Johnson stood waiting for Nicola to say something. Shrugging, he looked at him. “What? What is it?”
“That Molly dealer that Twist was going to connect me to just called. I barely missed the call because of that fucking news conference.” The mounting frustration was evident on Nicola’s face. “I’ve gotta meet her at 4:30 at Peek.”
“Well, let’s get to the coroner,” he said, pulling out his keys. “Then, let’s hit the strip club.”
“Why don’t you run over and get the jump drive for me. It doesn’t take two of us, right? Meet me back at the office when you’re done. I’m going to see
if I can run down anything on her,” Nicola said in a huff. “She says that she’s going to blow town if I don’t show.”
“The dealer’s a woman?” Johnson said surprised.
“Yeah,” Nicola said, stuffing his phone back down in his pocket. “Fits now that I think about it. The female bodyguards. Female dealers. What can I say? Twist liked the ladies. Poor bastard.” Nicola never mourned the death of a drug dealer, but everything else aside, he liked Twist. He wasn’t an asshole like most of the dealers he ran into.
“What’s her name?” Johnson asked. “The dealer?”
“Roxie. She didn’t give a last name.”
“My boy has been trying to get in on this case. Mark Flowers from narc…you know him?”
“Just by name. He’s a little young on the force for my taste,” Nicola said with a raised brow.
“Well, if you want me to give him a call, I can check if he knows any girls named Roxie in the business.”
Nicola nodded. “Do it. I’m going to head on over to the office. I’ll see you in a few.”
Johnson quickly jetted across the two lanes of traffic and jumped into his car. Before he could even buckle his seatbelt, he was already on the phone.
Nicola headed to his truck, determined to make the meeting with Roxie at 4:30 and try to put together all of the missing pieces of his puzzle.
As soon as he pulled out into the streets, his cell rang. It was Johnson. “Yeah.”
“You won’t believe this,” Johnson said, voice fairly excited.
“Believe what?” Nicola asked.
“I called Mark and coincidentally he was trying to get in touch with us. Narc just busted a crack house in South Memphis. Get this. One of the guys in there swears that he has sensitive information regarding the case.”
Nicola paused. “Where is he?”
Johnson knew that Nicola would bite. “I had my boy hold him. But you have to be quick about picking him up. They’re getting ready to roll out with the wagon soon.”
The World in Reverse Page 9
