by Joe Ide
The detectives looked at each other. “What do you mean ‘not for me’?” Humpty said.
“I mean,” Bertrand said, speaking slowly as if that might help, “I didn’t enter the picture until, like I said, I was sitting on the floor next to Tyler’s body and I saw the ninny woman—”
“I don’t think I’m following,” Humpty said. “You had to be in the showroom first. You had to see Tyler alive before he was dead.”
“Not necessarily,” Bertrand said.
“Who’s the ninny woman again?” Dumpty said.
“Okay, back up,” Humpty said. “You told us before that you were measuring Tyler for a suit.”
“No, I didn’t,” Bertrand said. “Christiana did.”
Humpty squinted and shook his head. “But you’re Christiana.”
“You know who you should talk to?” Bertrand said. “Pearl. She was there before me.”
“Wait,” Dumpty said. “Who’s Pearl?”
Bertrand shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s just…Pearl.”
“We haven’t heard the name before,” Humpty said. “Here. Write down the names of all the people who were there besides Tyler.”
“Sure,” Bertrand said. For clarity’s sake, he wrote the list in block letters.
CHRISTIANA
PEARL
ME
NINNY WOMAN
MARLENE AND JASPER BUT I’M NOT SURE
Bertrand slid the list to Humpty. “There you are,” he said, like this was highly unnecessary.
Dumpty read over Humpty’s shoulder. He squinted like the list was out of focus. Humpty took a big breath, like Bertrand did when he was in the bathtub, just before he dunked his head underwater.
“Okay, Miss—Mister Byrne,” Humpty said. “I’m confused. When we interviewed you at the shop, you never mentioned all these people.”
“You didn’t interview me,” Bertrand replied. “You interviewed Christiana.” Humpty and Dumpty looked the way you look when somebody is speaking in a foreign language you’ve never heard. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” Bertrand said, “but have you ever done this before?”
“Yes, we have,” Humpty said. He was frowning now. He had his big hands splayed on the table and was leaning forward. “Okay,” he said, like he was the one who needed patience. “One more time from the top.”
“Sure, Humpty,” Bertrand said.
“Humpty?”
Bertrand felt sorry for him. A guy his age and couldn’t do a simple interview. “You’re kind of old to be a rookie, aren’t you?” he said.
“I’m not a rookie,” Humpty said.
“It’s okay. Everybody’s got to start somewhere.”
“I’m not a—”
“Wait,” Dumpty said, coming off the wall. “Who the fuck is the ninny woman?”
“Which one is in there now?” Dodson said.
“Bertrand,” Isaiah said. “Or at least I think it’s Bertrand.”
“So the—what did you call them, alters? They could change back and forth like, whenever?”
“Yeah,” Isaiah said, “whenever.”
Isaiah was on his way to the police station when Dodson called. He said he had nothing to do and was wondering if he could help with the case. A startling admission. The Dodson Isaiah knew would never admit to needing something he couldn’t get for himself. Something was up. Now they were sitting in the Kia across the street from the station. Isaiah caught Dodson up on the case.
“That is some crazy shit,” Dodson said, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” Isaiah sighed.
Bertrand came out of the station. “That’s him,” Isaiah said, noting the clothes. Bertrand looked furtive and annoyed, like he had to do something he didn’t want other people to see. Hurriedly, he walked around the corner of the building and out of sight.
“No, wait, I don’t think that’s him anymore,” Isaiah said. “His head is too erect, too much attitude, too much—”
“Booty,” Dodson said.
“That’s Marlene.”
By the time they got to the corner of the building, she was nowhere to be seen. There was nothing around but office buildings and more office buildings. Nothing of obvious interest to Marlene. But there, between a building and a billboard, Isaiah saw a bronze sailor in a crow’s nest, one hand shading his eyes, the other pointing at land, ho! The Windward Mall.
They hurried over. “What’s Marlene like?” Dodson asked.
“Party girl. Promiscuous. Gambler. Trades on her looks.”
There was nothing special about the mall. A rotunda, food court, shops on three floors. Lots of people carrying shopping bags, dragging their kids along, clusters of teenagers yakking, sullen men sitting on benches, sighing and glancing at their watches.
“Split up,” Isaiah said, wanting to get rid of him. Dodson nodded and left.
Obviously, Marlene came here to shop. Isaiah went from Victoria’s Secret to the Skin Spa to the Jewelry Mart. He was on his way over to a shoe store when Dodson called.
“I got her,” he said.
Dodson was waiting outside Night Moves, a store that specialized in what Deronda called the come on and get some look. “Party girl like that,” Dodson said. “She was embarrassed about them clothes she was wearing.”
“Right,” Isaiah said. He wished he knew more about women.
Marlene came out of the store and dropped Bertrand’s clothes in a trash can. She saw Isaiah and groaned.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. What do you want?”
“I want to talk.”
She stuck her head forward, opened her eyes wide and shook her head. “I’m telling you, I don’t know anything.”
“Just a few minutes,” Isaiah said. “It’s for your own good.” Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.
“My own good?” she said, her tone hardening. “Oh, really?”
“You could end up in prison,” Isaiah said, angry now. “Is that what you want?”
“I’ll look after myself, Sherlock,” she snapped. “In the meantime, leave me alone.” Dodson was looking at her, knowingly and slightly amused.
“Who are you?” she said.
“I’m Juanell Dodson,” he replied as if it was common knowledge. “What are you making such a fuss about? It’s only a conversation. If you don’t know anything, you don’t know anything. Just talk to Isaiah for a quick minute and we’ll be on our way.” She sighed, only half convinced. “The Hyatt’s across the street,” Dodson went on. “A cocktail hits the spot in the middle of the day.” He smiled his hustler’s smile. “You must be thirsty, trying on all those clothes.” There was a flash of recognition in Marlene’s eyes.
“Lead the way,” she said.
Dodson and Marlene crossed the street together, Isaiah trailing. He was sullen, thinking he could have convinced her himself if he’d had a little time. This was aggravating. They’d only been together for forty-five minutes and Dodson was competing with him already. Well, he could compete all he wanted but he was not, repeat, not, going to win the day.
Marlene sauntered, hips like a metronome. Men gawked and she glanced at them as if to say you wish. Dodson chatting her up—how hot she looked, how she should be in Playboy, how it should be against the law to walk like that. She laughed and took his arm.
They got a table in the bar. She slipped off her shoes, curled up in the chair like a seductive S and looked at them with Marilyn Monroe eyes. Corny, Isaiah thought. He almost expected her to sing, “Happy birthday, Mr. President.” Dodson was smiling appreciatively.
“Stop it, girl, my zipper’s about to bust.” She laughed.
The server arrived. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Welcome to the Hyatt. What can I get for you today?”
“May I order for you, Marlene?” Dodson said gallantly. “There’s a drink here I think you’ll enjoy.”
“I wish you would.”
“Two black martinis, please.” The server looked at Isaiah.
“And for you, sir?”
“He won’t have anything,” Dodson said. “He’s driving.”
Marlene giggled. The server left. “What’s a black martini?” she asked.
“Vanilla Absolut, touch of Kahlúa, a little whipped cream and a chocolate swizzle stick.”
“Sounds yummy,” she said.
“Could we talk about that night, please?” Isaiah said.
She waved her hand. “Oh, it’s such a bore. Can’t we talk about something else?”
“Marlene, you could go to prison,” Isaiah intoned like a parent. “Do you understand what I’m saying? They can lock you up for years. Years.” She reacted as if she was hearing this for the first time. She looked at Dodson for confirmation.
“No joke, girl,” he said. “Ain’t no men in there, either, ’less you wanna be passed around by the guards. Tell him what he needs to know and we can enjoy our drinks in peace.” She nodded as if that was sensible.
Isaiah restrained his irritation. “What did you think of Tyler?” he asked.
Marlene made a face, half angry, half disgusted. “He was such a pretentious asshole. He made a big deal out of wine and he drove one of those so-called vintage cars. Some kind of old Mercedes. It didn’t even have airbags. And he lived in this old creepy house like it was supposed to be cool or something.” She shifted around, exposing more thigh. “I mean I’m sorry he’s dead and everything, but—” She shrugged.
“So you knew each other?” Isaiah asked.
She sneered, “Oh, he knew me, all right. He was like every other man I’ve met and, of course, he adored Christiana. Everybody adores Christiana. I hate that selfish bitch. All she thinks about is herself.” That was surprising, Isaiah thought. The charge seemed to fit Marlene perfectly.
“What did you see that night?” Isaiah asked. She seemed to take the question seriously. Her brow was bunched up. She was nodding, staring past him, trying to remember. Come on, Marlene. Give me something.
“It’s hazy, okay?” she said. “Sometimes something happens that’s too freaky for us to handle so we kind of go berserk. We start switching out all over the place.”
“Okay, but what did you, personally, see?” Isaiah said.
“Nothing really,” she said.
“You don’t remember anything?” he said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
Marlene shook her head. “Just a bunch of flashes…but I did feel a temperature change and I was sweating.”
“Where were you?” Isaiah said.
“Um, I was standing just inside the front door, looking at Tyler’s body.” She shrugged. “After that, just snippets. I can’t really remember them.”
“That’s all?” he said.
“That’s all.”
The server brought their drinks. “Just in time,” she said. She clinked glasses with Dodson. They sipped, suggestive smiles on their faces. “Mmm, this is good,” she said. Dodson raised his eyebrows and smiled at Isaiah. What’s the matter, son? Your freakishly large brain couldn’t work this out?
Isaiah paid for the drinks and left. Grudgingly, he was grateful Dodson had extracted the info from Marlene, as little as it was. It chafed, like it always did, how Dodson could manipulate people so easily. It made you wonder if there was anything beneath his superficial appeal; whether he thought about anything other than being slick.
Okay, Marlene, Isaiah thought. She said she’d just come in the front door of the shop and felt the temperature change. Was she the alter that ran down the block and back? There was no way to know for sure. He felt another wave of futility. Even if he completed the timeline, so what? How would that prove Christiana’s innocence? What exculpatory evidence could he give to the police? He dreaded and feared what came next. Jasper. If he didn’t know anything that broke the case, the case was over.
Chapter Ten
You Can’t Buy a Backbone
at the Store
Dodson drove home from the Hyatt. He’d briefly considered having sex with Marlene. She was certainly willing, but it was wrong on so many levels he dismissed it. Still, he’d never turned down pussy before and it depressed him even more than he already was. The last couple of years had been hard on him.
Grace’s mother had given him a hundred K for his help in the Walczak case, but Cherise had insisted on putting most of the money into Micah’s college fund. Dodson argued he could invest the money and make a bigger contribution somewhere down the line. Somewhere down the line is not the phrase to use with a mother worried about her child’s education. Very reluctantly, Cherise said his portion would be twenty thousand dollars and that was generous given what tuition costs these days.
“Besides, I know you, Juanell,” she said. “You’re not going to invest in anything.” She said the word with the same inflection she used to say a wasted life or down the toilet. “I know what that means.”
“Oh, you do?” Dodson retorted. “Tell me, then. What does it mean?”
“It means you’ll partner up with one of your shady friends and put the money into something shady and even if you make money, you’ll have to hide it from the IRS, but you won’t care, you’ll just have more money to invest into something else shady with your shady friends and end up in trouble with the law.”
Dodson didn’t say anything. He wondered if Cherise was psychic, a question he asked himself all too often. “I had no such intention,” he said. “I nearly lost my life earning that money. I should get a bigger cut. It is my money.”
“No one is saying you didn’t earn it,” Cherise said. “Nevertheless it’s our money—don’t shake your head like that. It’s our money the same way my salary is our money, which you’ve been living off of for most of our marriage, and I’ll also remind you Micah is our child. You’re not some bystander. You’re his father. You’re responsible for his future, don’t you get that by now?” Dodson hated it when she said things like that.
He used the twenty K to buy part interest in a tow truck from Freddie G, a former partner in the crack business. He didn’t tell Cherise about Freddie; a man had to make some decisions for himself. Dodson’s father had worked at a towing company after he got back from Iraq. He was an alcoholic and took his son along to do the heavy lifting. Dodson loved it. Shimmying under the car; setting the tow hooks, the wheel straps and the breakaway chains; his father operating the winch from inside the truck, proud when the boy was done. “Pretty fast,” he’d say, looking at his watch. “You almost beat the record.”
Dodson’s new business went well for a couple of months. Until one day the police showed up, shut down the towing yard and confiscated the truck. Freddie G had been selling the cars Dodson towed in for cash. They were both arrested but fortunately, very fortunately, Freddie told the cops Dodson had nothing to do with that part of the business. Cherise never said anything but it made him feel worse.
Now he was adrift all over again. Since losing the money he hadn’t found anything lucrative or prestigious enough to suit his family-size ego or idiosyncratic skill sets. He spent most of his time napping, eating, watching TV and sitting on the balcony looking down at the roof of his car. He’d gained weight and sometimes didn’t bother changing out of his bathrobe, putting on regular clothes just before Cherise came home from work. If he felt energetic, he’d go to McLaren Park, smoke a J and bring a baggie of Doritos crumbs to feed the pigeons. He liked to watch them squabble and bump each other aside, hustling for a living like everybody else. Sometimes he’d listen to Mo and the other winos tell stories about fortunes lost, wicked women and how the government was spying on their cardboard houses and had satellites that only watched black people.
Cherise’s mother, Gloria, felt bad for her daughter but she was delighted with Dodson’s failure. It was clear proof of what she’d been trying to convince Cherise of for years. That Dodson was a bum and a loser, a mistake to be rectified. Gloria and Dodson took turns babysitting. It was shortly after the tow truck debacle when they inadvertently met in the living room.
“Oh, it’
s you,” she said with utter contempt.
Dodson said, “Yes, it’s me because I live here and this is my apartment, a fact you should have realized a long time ago. I guess it’s difficult, given your age, deteriorating eyesight and the gradual loss of your mental capacities. Maybe you should be looking for an old folks’ home. I’d be glad to help you.”
“You don’t contribute one penny to the rent,” Gloria replied. “So it’s not your apartment, it’s Cherise’s, who should have married Earl Cleveland and never let you in the door. Do you have a job yet?”
“I’m between projects,” Dodson answered.
“You mean you’re between stupid ideas,” Gloria said. “It’s a good thing too. One more of your ideas and everybody’d be in the poorhouse.”
Dodson couldn’t defend himself, a first for him. They needed some things for the baby. He’d go to Costco. That would be useful.
“Where’re you going?” Gloria said as he put on his hoodie.
“Shopping.”
“Why?” she said. “You can’t buy a backbone at the store.”
It was two weeks before Beaumont was shot in the drive-by. Dodson was sitting in the kitchen minding his own business and eating a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. Cherise came in. Even in the navy blue business suit, she couldn’t hide how fine she was. Sometimes, like now, he couldn’t believe they were actually married, that she’d chosen him from all the other men out there who would have mushed a dogsled across Siberia to get with her.
She sat down at the table across from him and stared with that we need to talk, it’s serious and it’s not about me look in her eyes. He ate another heaping spoonful of cereal. He knew from experience this would take a while.
She said, “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” he said.
“Yes, we do. Look at me, Juanell. It’s time to face the music.”
“What music is that?”
“That you’ve become a lazy bum.”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard that song before. Who sings it?”
