by Kim Smith
“He hasn’t changed much, still has the looks. No little gold band on his finger, either.”
He measured cornmeal into a yellow bowl and stirred, a dreamy look on his face. “Damn, my luck may be changing. You know, those stories you published just made him more appetizing.”
“You read that stuff?”
He nodded, a little giggle escaping his lips. “Probably the only time I ever read the Bugle. So, did Sal believe you ain’t some ax murderer?”
“Murderess is the correct term, and yes, he seemed to. Warned me not to play detective and try to solve the case for him. Of course, I’ve never been good with orders. Hence why I’ve decided to try to get in the apartment tonight.”
That brought Dwayne out of his lustful lolly-gagging. He moved past me into the living room and stood with his arms crossed.
I followed, shifting my duffel and purse around. “Are you going to help me?”
He whirled around and pointed his bony black finger at me. “What you mean is, come with me, Dwayne, and get in trouble, too. You didn’t hear a word Sal said, did you? How are you going to get in there? You got a key?”
“I did have, but Rick took it back. He locked himself out not long ago, and I had to give him mine. Of course, he never gave it back because he intended to break up, I guess. Sure would be nice to have it now.”
Dwayne put a hand on his hip. “It’s illegal to break and enter someone’s joint, girl. Or ain’t you had enough police shit for one day? What’s so damn important in that man’s apartment?”
“There might be DVDs, like you said, or maybe even more of those cards. Some hidden somewhere the cops didn’t find. I know all Rick’s hiding places.
“Damn, Wall-ass, how many of those movies did you make?”
I swallowed. “Not sure. Don’t remember.”
He scowled.
“Please, Dwayne. You’re a pro. I need you.”
“Ain’t you ever watched CSI? You see how thorough those cops are? There ain’t no secrets left undiscovered,” he insisted.
“I have to try, Dwayne. This is very important to me.”
“Yeah? Well, my freedom’s important to me. I took college courses to get a life where I don’t have to break and enter.” He paced back and forth.
“I told you I would pay you.” I hoped I didn’t sound wheedling. “It’s five thou, D.”
He crossed his arms. “That’s terrible. I thought you were my friend. Now you’re trying to get me involved in some illegal shit.” He frowned at me. “And give me hush money on top of it.”
“It’s not hush money. It’s ‘help me’ money. Cash, Dwayne, right now.”
He let his hands drop to his sides and slumped. “I don’t want your freakin’ money.”
“Well, what can I do to convince you? I’m doing this. I have to.”
He squinted down at me as if in pain. “What if we get caught?”
I dropped my purse and duffel and threw my arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you!”
He fended me off. “Ew.” Then he grinned and offered a fist bump.
Excited, I said, “We won’t get caught. We’ll be careful. Plus, you’ve got PI training. Nobody will know.”
“Training for that don’t teach you how to be a criminal, just think like one.”
I took that as agreement and set out to explain the game plan. “First, we should go to your office and gather the stuff we need.”
He lowered himself on the fuzzy brown couch, as if all his energy was gone. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Um, it’s being painted.”
“So? Like I haven’t ever seen a room in disarray before?”
“No,” he insisted. “We can’t go there. I don’t need to. I have what I need.”
I was impressed. “Okay then. You’re the man. You take care of all that stuff. Then we can go collect what’s left of my and Rick’s,” I made air quotes. “Collection. If there is one.”
He fell back onto the pillows. “Wonderful. I’m going to prison for the porn of a dead man.”
I stopped at the door without looking back. “He wasn’t anywhere near dead in those videos.”
Chapter 9
The air conditioner thrummed outside my apartment, an ever-present reminder of summer. Inside, I stood in front of the window unit letting the cool air blast me until my sweat was nearly dried.
Sufficiently cooled, I headed for my bedroom. The entire place had that cave-like aura—dark, chilly, and quiet. Something I needed for the time being. Ignoring my bed for the umpteenth time, I grabbed clean clothes, strolled into the bathroom to the shower and scrubbed every part twice with cucumber melon body wash. The shower jets pounded me until my body tingled all over. When I finished, there was enough steam in the little room to run a train, but I felt a hundred percent better.
I wrapped my hair in a towel and fell naked onto my bed, too weak to deny the comfort only a pillow and blanket could offer. I only intended to rest until I had enough energy to dry my hair, but when I woke it was late.
Eleven o’clock. I was starved. When had I eaten last?
Dragging myself out of bed, I tugged the towel off and eased into clean black jeans, a black tee shirt with ‘Jamaica’ written in gold letters, and my navy-blue and white Nikes. I was no fashion slob; black went with everything in my book.
My hair, now a mass of tangles, demanded I stop in the bathroom and grab a comb. While I fought the frizz, I shuffled to the kitchen to look in the fridge. Thank God, there was yogurt, at least. I smiled with pride at my clean shelves. They were void of food, but they sparkled. No brown lettuce, or gray fuzzies in Shannon Wallace’s fridge. by God.
I tossed the comb on the coffee table and dug into the custard-style strawberry yogurt. Manna from Heaven, but it wouldn’t be enough. I considered stopping off at Grohlstein’s, the 24-hour drug store which had all manner of snack food although a little more expensive than the grocery store.
I could grab a soda and one of those new candy bars touted to be a cookie in disguise. My stomach thundered in applause. I went over my plans again. What did one need for breaking into someone’s apartment? And did the fact that the someone had recently been murdered matter in the organization of such tools?
Yellow crime scene tape draping the area like some strange Halloween party decoration came to mind. It might matter given that little problem. Also, what if the cops were still there investigating? How long did they stay anyway? Did they rid the place of any…residual stuff?
I swallowed hard. We had to go inside. Maybe the dark of night would cover any blood or other things if they didn’t clean it. I didn’t want to see it. I couldn’t.
Think of something else. Who might we encounter?
Mr. Yoshi. Would he be watching again? That old man never slept. If he stuck his face out, I would tell him we were just getting my stuff. Maybe I wouldn’t have to. Maybe we would go through a window in the back. I would leave the investigator stuff to Dwayne. He knew what to do.
Searching into my purse, I dug out my cell phone and noted the missed calls—all from the Mamas. I dialed my new partner, Detective Dwayne.
The phone rang several times before his sleepy voice answered. “Hello?”
“What? You fell asleep?”
“Damn straight. And I intend on staying asleep.”
“No, you can’t. I have to get into that apartment, and I have to do it tonight.”
What if he refused to help me? I wouldn’t be able to manage it alone.
“Wall-ass,” he whined. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Dwayne listen,” I gripped the phone. “We can’t talk about this now. You know what I mean and you know why. I’m doing this. If you don’t come along and I get into trouble, you will be the reason. I hope you can live with that guilt.”
Silence. No way I would wait another day to find out whether there was a disk floating around in that apartment. I had to know what was around and what was missing
. I pulled out my ace in the hole. “Did you hear me? I may even have to interested parties about a rug that ended up missing outside a certain bar a few years ago. I did agree not to tell anyone. But if you can’t help me…”
He exhaled loudly. “Not that anyone gives a shit. There’s a statute of limitations, Wall-ass. Now, who’s gonna bail us out when we get arrested?”
Victory assured, I relaxed. “Let’s talk about that later. Cell phone. Very bad idea.” I tapped the phone with my nail. “Airwaves dangerous.” Everyone suspected governmental entities of eavesdropping, me included.
“Meet me at Waffle House on Greenman Road in fifteen minutes,” he growled. Then the phone beeped, and he was gone.
I dropped my phone into my purse and left the apartment, shrugging off the sadness creeping in. Was there something wrong with me for doing this? Maybe if Rick were alive and I needed to get things from his apartment, it would feel different, less invasive.
I shook my head at my own indecisiveness. If he were alive, he would just destroy the damn card and be done with me. I wouldn’t have to break in. As it stood, this appeared the only way left open to me. I had to save my reputation. I would give in to all the ‘what ifs’ another day.
Grohlstein’s parking lot glimmered from all the cars pulling in and out. Too full for me to stop. I would have to wait in a long line behind people out for a night on the town while they probably discussed their plans, like using condoms. I shook my head and accelerated. I didn’t want to even think about condoms.
As I pulled into Waffle House I tried to comfort myself with the thought that if Rick had made any DVDs from the footage he’d shot, he would cleverly hide them. He had put his grandmother’s small antique chifforobe in his closet, and behind it was a private wall safe. He’d shown me the safe in case I ever wanted to lock up anything valuable.
When Sal had said the SD card was missing, I hadn’t remembered the safe. Now, it was something that I alone knew about and needed to check on. No matter what Dwayne said, I didn’t think the cops found the safe.
I tried to remember how many times Rick had recorded us. Two occasions for sure. But if there had been more...What if he had filmed us without my knowledge? He was always plotting innovations. What if he’d bought another camera and hidden it somewhere? He might do that since I was so paranoid. All he’d have to do was cover the red light with a piece of black duct tape. He’d even asked me one time if it was bothering me and offered to cover it up.
My heart fluttered. It didn’t matter how many instances, as long as I could get to all of the footage. And soon. Rick’s killer might already know more about me than was healthy.
Disgusted, I yanked on the glass door and went inside the diner. I slid into one of the booths, and shivered from the chill of the hard plastic seat that iced my butt through my jeans. I looked around. No matter what city you were in, all Waffle Houses were the same. Not even the jukeboxes were different.
Dwayne joined me a few minutes later. He wore black, too. “My God, it’s cold in here. Why do they do that?”
“Do what?”
“Turn the air up so high it turns your snot into icicles.”
“I think it’s so you will eat really fast and leave.”
“Great, so are we eating?” he asked, pulling over a menu.
“Why not.” My stomach rumbled.
After placing an order for two coffees and identical breakfasts, we glared at each other across the table. Dwayne kept a surreptitious glance going as people entered and left.
“They think we’re together,” he muttered.
“We are together,” I stirred my coffee.
“No,” he said. “Together, together. Like a couple.”
I grinned, trying to be goofy, but he only scowled and looked away. When the waitress brought the food, we ate in silence. He was jumpy, and I was nervous, not the best combination for us to make sparkling conversation.
During our final cup of java, he rubbed his eyes. “I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”
I regretted asking him to do this but justified it with the fact that I would pay him whether he wanted the money or not. He took a deep breath and slid out of the booth. I followed.
Outside, I walked to his car, waited to get in.
“Wait a damn minute,” he said, turning to face me. “Why are we taking my car?”
“I don’t know. I thought you were the big private investigator here. We’ll take the car you feel most comfortable in.”
“Oh really?” he asked, walking away. “Well, I feel more comfortable having your car impounded.”
I shrugged, walked past his Mustang, and got into the driver’s seat of my Cougar. He slid in next to me and hunkered down with his arms crossed. We drove down Greenman Road past some of the newer businesses of South Lake, including a car wash, and a nursery, both closed. Traffic was light.
“One of my aunts used to say nothing good ever happens after midnight.” I glanced over at Dwayne.
“I think she meant nothing legal,” he said.
We followed the curving driveway through the apartments. Lights interspersed along the walkways enabled tenants to maneuver at night without danger between each building, and the illumination twinkled in the night like fairy lights.
I parked a few spaces from Rick’s apartment and waited for Dwayne to announce the plan. He sat still as a stone.
“Well, here we are.” I turned to look at him.
He didn’t say anything.
“Dwayne?”
He shifted slightly. “Yeah?”
“Are you ready? Where’re your tools?”
“What tools?”
A jolt of fear tightened my throat. “Don’t you need something to, you know, get us in? I have a total of one screwdriver and one wrench buried in my trunk somewhere.”
He muttered as he climbed out, “Obviously, you ain’t done this before.”
I followed a few paces behind, looking around for cop cars, unmarked ones. Never saw anything that resembled one and took that as a good sign.
Dwayne waited on the far curb for me to direct him to the right door. I strolled up the breezeway taking stock of the area and walked past Rick’s door to double check every angle. No yellow tape anywhere.
I pointed at Rick’s door and paced around, watching.
Dwayne stepped up to the door and fiddled. People talked behind the thin walls of the surrounding apartments, and I prayed the whole time to get in and out without notice. I thought we had succeeded until I heard a cough.
I wheeled around at the sound. Mr. Yoshi. He never closed his apartment door all the way. There was a killer on the loose, and he all but invited him in for oolong tea and fortune cookies. I clapped my hand over my heart.
He stepped out of his apartment clad in a long, white nightshirt. It would have been comical if he hadn’t been holding a baseball bat.
I pulled Dwayne away from the door.
“It’s okay, Mr. Yoshi. It’s me, Shannon. I just came over to get a few of my things.” I didn’t have anything to show him so I patted my pockets like they were small, insignificant items.
“Who that man?” Yoshi asked, waving the bat at Dwayne.
“He’s a friend of mine.”
“He no welcome here. You go.”
“No need to be rude, Mr. Yoshi; my friend’s here to help me. I’m very sad.”
“He no welcome here. Mr. Rick no like friend. You go.”
I shrugged and motioned to Dwayne to continue with getting us in the apartment, but Dwayne had abandoned ship. Frustrated, I followed him trying to change his mind. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s delirious.”
“Uh uh. Let’s go.”
We hurried to the parking lot. Dwayne slid into the seat next to me. “That old dude creeps me out. What was he trying to say?”
“I don’t know. He speaks in broken English.”
“Yeah, but he said, Mr. Rick don’t like me. I never met Mr. Rick.”
I stared up at the building. “He’s a scared old man. His neighbor was just killed. Probably just in shock. I guess he was moving around making dinner, and we disturbed him. Damn, I don’t know what to do now. I really need to get in there.”
Dwayne strapped his seat belt on and leaned back. “Not tonight, honey.”
I started the car, and as I turned to look behind me before backing out, I saw Dwayne’s horrified stare. “What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Relax, we’re leaving.”
He grabbed my arm. “What if that old man saw the killer? What if Rick was killed by an African-American man? Maybe even one that looked like me, you know, slim, trim?”
I pulled back into the lot, threw it into park, and yanked the keys out. We ran to Yoshi’s door and tried to knock, but he pulled it open, bat at the ready.
“Mr. Yoshi,” I panted, taking a step back. “What did you say about Rick not liking my friend?”
He glanced from me to Dwayne and sized him up. “No. Not this friend. He no like other one.”
“What do you mean no like? Was a black man, like my friend here, at Rick’s apartment the other night?”
Yoshi’s gaze narrowed. “You try to trick me! I no talk to you no more!”
He slammed the door and locked it. From the other side, he shouted, “Go away. You take friend and no come again.”
“That’s one way to get him to lock his door,” I muttered.
We stood there a few seconds looking at one another. Then I moved toward Rick’s door, and Dwayne pulled on my arm. “Don’t even go there. Let’s go.”
“Just one second. It’ll only take a second.”
“Shannon! For crap’s sake, that old man aimed a baseball bat at my head. Let’s go.”
I shook the door knob in desperation.
“He’s probably gone to call the law right now,” Dwayne pleaded. “Please, let’s go.”
That thought hadn’t occurred to me. “Oh great. Ramirez to the rescue. He’ll know exactly what’s up.”
We jogged to the car, got in, and roared off.
Upon waking, I called the Mamas. My phone messages had increased in number and intensity. They would be coming to the apartment next, and I didn’t want that.
