by David Skato
“Laughing fool,” a voice from the back startles them both.
They turn to see a woman who looked almost identical to the receptionist downstairs; Long blonde hair that draped just below her shoulder blades. Her long legs, flawless, clearly visible because the mini skirt stopped way short of her knees. Her blouse, which didn’t look safe for work, was only buttoned just above her rib cage, showing entirely too much cleavage.
Jessi, still a bit shook, “wha-, what?”
The woman steps closer to the painting and between the two. “This painting is called the laughing fool by Jacob Cornelisz van Oostsanen.”
Jessi whispers before she’s able to stop herself, “The shit ain’t funny.”
Dontae’ interjects before the woman can respond, “We’re here to see Roland Walsh.”
“You can find him in his office down the hall to the right,” She points.
They head in the indicated direction.
“She like to got her ass whooped,” Jessi states, now filled with bravado.
“She looks like she can take you,” Dontae’ joked.
“I'll be damned. I can go about three rounds with Mayweather, shit,” She states with a little air swing.
“How tall are you again?”
“Tall enough,” She shoots back.
They finally reach a door that reads "Roland Walsh C.E.O." Dontae' knocks
“Come in,” A voice that could be British, but it was hard to tell, yelled from the other side of the door.
Dontae pushes the door open to see a mid-height brash looking man in a William Westmancott suit. The man’s salt and pepper hair glowed as the sunlight from the large window hit it from the side. His thin lips and perfect nose hinted that in another life, he could be a politician. Behind him and his large black desk, a large wall held huge, old, and strange paintings. Roland Walsh greets the detectives with a slight smile. If “made of money” had a look, he would be it. Some men you can tell what they are thinking, and then some you can only imagine. Roland was the latter. He was the kind of breed of successful men that didn’t talk unless he had something to say and didn’t answer if he deemed your question irrelevant.
He stands while buttoning his jacket and suggesting the two sit opposite his desk. “Please have a seat.”
They comply as he does the same.
“What can I do for Atlanta’s finest?”
“I’m Detective Wade; this is my partner Detective Mason.”
Jessi interrupts, “You can start by telling us where you were last night?”
Dontae’ cuts his eyes at Jessi while unaware that he is straightening papers on Roland's desk.
Roland explains. “I was home with my wife. We stayed in because she wasn’t feeling well.”
“You have some pretty amazing artwork,” Dontae’ states as he notices the same type of writing on Roland's pictures as on the paper from the scene. Not only did it resemble the letter, the writing on the painting behind his desk had the exact characters.
Roland turns in his chair and looks at the paintings. “They are of a special collection. Not many people can afford these pieces.”
“Really? Did Rochelle enjoy looking at them?” Dontae’ suggests.
“It’s a shame what happened. We have no affiliation with her, and I honestly don’t know why she would visit our place of business.”
“Really? This says differently.” He takes his phone from his pocket and hands it to Roland, showing the image of the note. “This was taken from the scene this morning. Looks like a perfect match.”
Roland looks at it for a second and hands it back to Dontae.
“So what does it say?” Dontae’ asks while tilting his head towards the writing on the painting.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Roland said, now a bit agitated.
Dontae’ counters. “We know that someone who works in the building let her in.”
“Perceivably. But people tend to make mistakes. Especially when it comes to celebrities.” Roland states as he looks at Jessi with a look that gave her chills up and down her spine.
“Adonis Sterling,” Dontae’ spews.
The name seems to bother Roland even though he tried to keep a straight face. Donate’ knows this by many years of what he would consider “soft” interrogations. By his definition, this was when you surprisingly give suspects bits of shocking information they didn’t know you had, causing them to panic.
“Why does Adonis Sterling have a badge to your building but is not listed as an employee? “Dontae’ continued. The questions seem to make Roland uncomfortable, and now he was all but squirming in his seat. His mentality, as well as his voice, shifted from light and pleasant to arrogant and reckless.
“I assure you, detectives, that I don’t know anything about what happened, and of course, I can’t personally keep track of who comes and goes as we have thousands of employees. However, I will have my attorney draft a statement on my behalf, and any further questions would have to go through him. If that’s all detectives, I have a very busy schedule.”
Roland stands, signifying that it’s time to go. He trails them to the door, where he leads them out.
Dontae’ stops in the threshold of the door right before Roland could close it. “By the way, I know she didn’t jump. I will find out who killed her.”
Roland, now agitated, raises his head to say, “Really?” and immediately closes the door on the two without uttering another word.
Jessi and Dontae’ look at each other and give slight smirks. They head down the elevator.
The sun was setting, and the city bokeh city lights started to shine in the dark. The evening traffic started to pick up as people were leaving their jobs for the day. Jessi and Dontae’ walk to the sidewalk and stand by his car.
“Well he lawyer-ed up fast. He definitely knows Adonis.” Jessi states as she looks down the street towards the evening traffic.
Dontae’ skips over the observation as if it’s obvious, “A note with the same letters as his painting is more than a coincidence.”
“Yea. And anybody with that type of shit hanging around their head murdered somebody at least once in they life,” Jessi remarks.
Dontae responds with a slight laugh, “What you know about art rookie? “
“I know that shit is a bit strange for my taste.”
“Yea. I’ve seen your apartment.”
“What does that supposed to mean?!”
“Nothing. But all black everything? For a woman? Kind of sends a message.”
“Yes. I like black! And don’t be talking about my place! We all don’t have -“Sandy”- to decorate for us, “Jessi states with an ugly drawl, making a funny face, and displaying air quotes.
Dontae’ checks a message on his phone, which opens to an image of a very sexy butt in lingerie with the text: “Meet me in the bedroom.” He smiles a bit and looks up to see Jessi staring directly in his face. “Important message I see.”
Dontae’ ignored the comment, “Tomorrow, I want you to find everything you can on that artwork and about the language on that note. Start with Georgian. I'm going to go visit Adonis Sterling.”
“Got ya. I’ll catch up with you in the morning.” She responds, looking at her phone.
“Okay. Hop in I'll give you a ride.”
“No. I'm good. I'll take an Uber. I’m going to go bar hopping. I’m sure there will be tons of Rochelle tribute parties tonight.”
He shakes his head with a slight laugh. “Okay, Text me and let me know when you made it home.”
“Okay, Dad,” She smirks.
“Very funny,” he smiles as he watches Jessi turn and walk away and soon disappearing into the madness of the city’s foot traffic.
In a restored two-story brownstone, Across town, Adonis Sterling franticly tosses random clothing and other items into a well-worn black suitcase watching the door closely as if he is expecting someone at any second. As he struggles to close the bag, a short but strong wind gust rattle
s his window. Adonis stops cold. His face goes to an almost statuesque stillness, his eyes bulge as he stares at the window. He unnoticedly leaves one clamp open on the suitcase as he saunters towards the window. His steps squeak a loose board in what now seems to be a dead silent room. He walks to the window veers down at what’s below. His face, in horror, mouth open, at the sight of something that drives pure terror through his slinky body.
On the street stood a shadowy figure in the shape of a man; But this was no man. The oozing black sludge that composed its entire body dangled from its razor-sharp teeth. The socket of its eyes were black holes that led to an abyss of unknown horrors. Its hands hung neanderthal-like to its sides, appearing to be a few inches, maybe even a foot, too long for its body. It was hard to tell if this thing was made of sludge or smoke because it looked like a bit of both.
Adonis jumps backward and falls over a chair as he rushes over to his suitcase. He grabs it, but the unhinged clamp makes one side open, and the contents spew out in a fan fashion all over the room. He takes a quick look, leaves it, and runs out the door. He runs down the stairs, falling with his butt sliding down three to four stairs but never stopping. He makes it to the street and through an ally opposite of where the creature stood. As he reached what he considered a safe distance, the six-foot 3 inches, tall, skinny, but clearly in no shape, Adonis Sterling pauses to catch his breath. Heaving and hoeing, he looks through his foggy glasses towards freedom. IF he can just get to the bus stop, he knows that this thing will leave him alone. He just needs to be around people. “It won’t show itself around people.” He ponders.
He takes a quick look back and starts walking towards the bus stop. He turns his head while taking a deep breath of victory, only to turn it around to the sight of the creature standing at the end of his victory lap. He stops in his tracks. The beast, oozing, slithers towards Adonis as he begs.
“Wait. You don’t understand. She played me! It was a mistake! How was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to know! Please just leave me alone. Leave me alone!”
Fear, as he’d never known, gripped his stomach, weakening his bladder, causing it to release, creating a wet stain on the front of his khakis. The figure continued to slither towards him.
Adonis dashed towards the busy street, blinded by fear in an attempt to get away from the evil, only to be struck by a speeding car. The right side of his ribs shattered on impact; his head smashed the hood breaking his skull as well as his neck. His body flew over the car, landing on the cold asphalt only to have his shirt get snagged on a piece of metal from another vehicle whose driver swerved, but the force sent Adonis’ body tumbling down the street, coming to a rest face down in the gutter. As the terrified driver came to a complete stop, she quickly exited the vehicle to check on the person she had hit. The woman knew that this man, who looks like he could be one of her grandkids, was dead. She cried franticly for someone to help. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something. She could barely catch a glimpse, but it was there. She was sure of it. Although she could not make out exactly what it was, she knew that it was not the work of the God she served.
Ω
A toddler walks down the street with a flower in one hand and his mother’s hand in the other. She jollily jumps in a puddle of water, making a small splash before looking up at her mother, whose eyes are straight ahead. The zoned-out woman stares at the yellow police tape as she slowly strolls into the crowd of pedestrians hanging around the scene. She arrives at the site, filled with candles, balloons, stuffed animals, and flowers. She looks down at the little girl and nods her head. The baby, oblivious to what’ going on, squats and drops the flower into the pile. The people that surround the area begin to cry.
In Madrid, a crowd of thousands fills the street, all singing the lyrics to one of Rochelle’s hits. In Tokyo, a jumbotron lights up a street filled with people as it airs Rochelle’s lasts music video. In Cairo, a group of teary-eyed people huddled together around a small radio playing another of the superstars' hit songs. Rochelle was gone, but her presence was felt. The world was in mourning.
CHAPTER IV
Donate walks into his apartment to the sound of running water. Smiling, he goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a chair and heads towards the sound. He places the chair just inside the bathroom threshold where he sits to take in a front-row view of a voluptuous silhouette showering. The figure rubs her hair and back as the water pulsates down her body. She turns to continue lathering, swinging her hair as she enjoys the steaming water. She finishes rinsing, turns off the water, and reaches out to grab a towel hanging nearby. She pulls the towel inside the shower and begins drying her face. She opens the shower door and steps out. The water highlighted every inch of her caramel-colored skin, her hips curvy, her feet professionally pedicured. With the towel still over her face, she rubs it gently until it’s dry enough to move to her hair. She opens her eyes to see a grinning Dontae’ enjoying the show. “God damn it!” She screams.
“You scared the shit out of me! What the fuck are you doing?!”
“Enjoying the view. This shit better than cable” Donate quips.
Smirking, she heads into the bedroom with Dontae’ following. He takes a seat on the bed and begins taking off his shoes.
“You know you got to be careful leaving that bathroom door wide open,” He explains as she paraded back and forth between the bedroom and bathroom.
“Why is that?”
“You don’t want someone catching you with your pants down,” He responds as he gives her one of his signature sexy glances.
“I got you to protect me,” She jokes. “Except when you’re running around all day with that gay girl,” She states as she rolls her eyes.
“You mean running around at work earning a paycheck? And Jessi is not gay bae,” Donate’ laughs at the familiar argument.
“That girl is gay! Why does she wear pants all the damn time? And have you ever seen her with a man?” Sandy argues as she brushed her teeth.
“That doesn't mean she's gay,” Dontae shoots back.
Sandy thinks for a second. “And why does she hate me so much? I’ve never done anything to her.”
“Probably because you think she’s gay bae. “
“Whatever,” she pouts.
“Where is all of this coming from?” Dontae’ asks curiously.
Sandy sits on the edge of the bed, massaging lotion into her smooth skin.
“My coworker is getting a divorce. She caught her man cheating on Quest. She found messages from almost a year ago. Can you believe that? A year! That son of a bitch.”
Dontae’ now laying down, “People really should stay off of that stuff. Why does anyone want to put their life out to the public anyway?”
“Yea, because you cheat in private,” she joked.
“Really?” He smirks.
“I'm just playing. But remember you said we were going to take a vacation. You were going to take me to see those Jamaican men?”
“First of all, I said we were going to go to Jamaica and nothing about any men.”
“Don’t act like you won't be looking at those women in their little bikinis hopping around. And no, you are not playing volleyball on the beach with them!” she states as she shoves his foot.
“Then how will I get my exercise?” He asked innocently.
Sandy walks to her side of the bed, where she pulls back the sheets and slides in next to Dontae’. She hums to herself as she looks casually around the room. This is that look when someone wants something, but they want the other person to ask them what that something is.
“So? Are you going to talk about Rochelle or nah?” She finally gives in.
“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s an apparent suicide.” Dontae’ shrugged, but Sandy knew him. There was more.
“Apparent?”
“Yes. Something is wrong with the whole thing. He reaches over and grabs his phone. It wasn’t standard procedure to share evidence outside of those working on a
case, but he trusted Sandy. They’d met while he was working on a case at the college where she taught quantum physics to undergrads. A domestic dispute turned ugly between two students leading to one being killed. Sandy was an eyewitness to the argument but luckily not the murder. Dontae’ didn’t usually get involved with people related to cases, but Sandy was different. She was upfront. She wanted to get to know him, and she let it be known. After a few dates, he knew she was the one. Now, six years later, he trusted her more than he had trusted anyone. This was Sandy, an extension of himself.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” He shows her the picture of the Note. “I can’t read the words, but I do know that symbol.
“I think we all know the eye on the back of a dollar.”
“Yes. But it’s not just that. That eye is the sign of the Illuminati.”
“Uh oh. Not that cult shit.”
“Illuminati is not a cult. Not in the sense of the word. Let me see it.” He hands her the phone. “Don’t worry,” She said with a smirk. “I’m not going to flip through your gallery and find pictures of the butt naked skanks from Quest.” He pouted his lips as to say, “yea, sure you’re not.” She takes the phone and pinches the image to zoom in on the picture. “This is supposedly the eye of Baphomet.” He looks at the image. “Who is Baphomet?”
“The devil? God? Depends on who you ask. These people worship him.”
“So, Rochelle is-was a devil worshiper?” Dontae’ asks skeptically.
“You know I like to read that stuff, but I don’t honestly believe it.” She pauses as a look of concern crosses her face. “Now I don’t know.”
“You better not come in here with a robe and candles and shit,” Dontae’ joked.
“I don’t want to be in that craziness. Although they’re all rich!”
He looks at her, “Hum?”
