Alibi (13 page)

She hopped up, got dressed, and made her way down to the Honey Dipper. By the time she got there it was almost midnight, and
that was perfect timing to catch Calvin in his office.

She walked inside. Saying hello to familiar faces, she made her way to the bar.

“Damn, Daisy Mae, I almost ain’t recognize you with your clothes on. Shit, how you been?” asked Dallas, happy to see her.

“Oh, I been okay. Got so much going on, you know?”

“Man, do I, it’s been rough for everybody though. Just got to hang in there.”

“Yup, just gotta hang in there. Hey, Dallas, where’s Calvin?” asked Daisy, cool, calm, and collected.

“He’s back there in his office.”

“Oh, ’cause I really need to see him.”

“Well, be careful, he might not recognize you with them clothes on.” Dallas laughed to himself as Daisy made her way to the
back of the club where Calvin’s office was.

“Who is it?” he growled from behind his desk.

“It’s me,” said Daisy as she peeked from behind the door and let herself in.

“What in the world do you want now?”

“Listen, Calvin, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, you damn right you sorry. You got the god damn police all over this motherfucker. Everywhere you turn there they are.
I can’t keep no business in here and it’s all because of you. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you girls. You stupid
or something? You can’t think? All you good for is lying on your backs and opening your legs. That’s it! Get on out of here;
ain’t nothing I can do for you,” said Calvin with blistering coldness.

“Calvin, please, I came back to work, I’m not trying to cause no trouble.”

“Work, girl, is you crazy? Let me tell you something, these god damn police is talking about some minor was in my bar on November
5 and was with you drinking. They threatening to close me down, and I swear I won’t lose my business behind your stinkin’
ass. You hear me, Daisy, I won’t, god damn it. Whatever you done told them police or whoever, you better think again, ’cause
if they subpoena me to come to court, I’m telling ’em that you wasn’t even working that night. Shit, you think you gonna close
me down? Is you out your fucking mind? Get the fuck outta here, Daisy. I don’t want to see you no more. You nothing but trouble,
nothing but trouble.”

“I’m sorry Calvin, I didn’t me—”

“Don’t matter what you meant, only matters what you do, and you doing some fucked-up shit, for some real fucked-up people.
You better be careful or you gonna wind up in an alleyway somewhere dead,” said Calvin, as he watched Daisy close the door
behind her.

“That’s right, get on outta here, talking about some god damn Bernard Guess in this motherfucker, nigga ain’t even old enough
to piss straight, let alone drink, and he in this motherfucker fucking my shit up for me. I don’t think so,” said Calvin,
hot and bothered, and needing something or somebody to cool him off. He peeked out his door.

“Hey, Cherry Tree, come on in here,” said Calvin, grabbing a half-naked cocktail waitress by the arm.

“My name is Cherry Blossom,” the girl said, as if Calvin really needed to get it right.

“Aaww, shit, Cherry Tree, Cherry Blossom, shit’s all the same, you just get on in here.”

If nothing else, owning a strip club had its membership rewards, and every now and then, Calvin would cash them in. It was
rare, but every blue moon, he took full advantage of being the boss.

Daisy went home realizing that the situation that she thought was bad with Sticks was actually worse than she had imagined.
Why the fuck would he want an alibi for someone in a bar that wasn’t old enough to drink? This nigga got me all in the middle
of some real bullshit. I can’t even get my job back with Calvin. I ain’t got no money. The police is talking about locking
my ass up in Muncy and this nigga is threatening me to say this bullshit alibi. Is he nuts?
Daisy honestly didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that she was beginning to wish she had never given that alibi statement
to that investigator.
Oh, Momma, if only I had listened to you.
She had no idea that one alibi statement would end up costing her for the rest of her life.

It was almost two o’clock in the morning by the time she got back home. She was hungry and tired. There was a corner left
in a box of Cap’n Crunch cereal. She poured some milk into the bowl and sat down at the kitchen table.
Look at that pile of mail. I bet it’s all bills in there.
Sometimes, the realities of life can make you afraid, and that’s what Daisy was feeling just looking at the mail.
I ain’t got no money to pay no bills. They’re gonna cut the phone off.
She started by opening up an AT&T envelope. And sure enough, it was a cut-off notice.
Cut it off, the only motherfucker calling is that damn Sticks and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to him no way.
She still couldn’t believe that Reggie had broke out on her, with no plans to return.
I just can’t believe it. I know he’s coming back, he’s got to come back.

Daisy sat there opening up each envelope, looking at the total due boxes.
Mmm, no television, ’cause won’t be no cable. Damn, the lights too. I better find some candles. Shit, I’m liable to be sitting
here in the god damn dark any second now. This is crazy.
There was an envelope marked Abigail Fothergill. It was her mother’s bank statement. She opened it and glanced at the pages,
put it back in the envelope, and laid it on the table.
Wait, what the
… She picked the envelope back up, pulled the statement out again, and looked at the bottom right-hand corner, at the total.
It must be some kind of mistake, some kind of big mistake.
There was $47,422.04 in her dead mother’s bank account, and she was named as a cosigner on the account.

She looked closer at the statement, and approximately three and a half weeks ago, there was a fifty-thousand dollar deposit
made, a debit of $2,577.96, and a remaining balance of $47,422.04.
Oh, my god, it must be some kind of bank error. But, what if… what if that money is still sitting there? What if the bank
hasn’t realized they made a mistake? Oh, my god, please let that money still be there.
Just then Daisy’s phone rang.
Go ahead, Sticks, I’m counting money over here, nigga. I ain’t got time for you and your fake ass, ain’t gonna work, alibi.
Shit, a bitch got money to spend and shit.
Daisy was suddenly sparked by the thought of all that money really being there. So sparked that she sat up all night long,
dancing, prancing, talking to herself in the mirror, and ignoring her ringing phone.

The next morning, Daisy was standing on the corner of Thirty-eighth and Chestnut streets waiting for the bank to open. The
lettering on the glass window of the bank said it opened at eight-thirty. Daisy glanced at her watch. All right now, it was
eight-thirty.
Come on, what’s the holdup.
Patience was no virtue today or any other day when it came to collecting fifty thousand big ones.
Oh, Lord, please, god, please let me get this money. I’ll be so good. I won’t strip no more, or have sex no more. I won’t
do nothing, I swear, god, please.

Sure enough, thirty minutes later Daisy was walking out of the bank with a pocketbook full of wrapped, fresh, clean, one-hundred-dollar
bills totaling $47,422. The four cents she slid into her jacket pocket. A bank manager had seated her in a private room and
brought the money to her. She was allowed to count it. It turned out that the account had been frozen after the deposit was
made. The bank had been informed by the government that the Social Security checks that Daisy had cashed had to be reimbursed
because they should have never been cashed after Abigail Fothergill passed. Daisy had cashed three months’ worth of checks,
her mother’s account was in the hole, and a freeze was placed on the account. Then, the bank had collected its debt, which
was the $2,577.96 and therefore released the freeze, which allowed Daisy to withdraw the money out of the account.

“Take as long as you need, and if we can be of further assistance, just let us know,” said the bank manager assisting Daisy.

“Thank you,” said Daisy, staring at the cash. She didn’t even hear the door close behind her. All she could do was sit there
and look at the money.
Oh, my god, I can’t believe it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
It was as if someone else got blessed and she just happened to be standing next in line.
What am I going to do with all this money. I can live forever off of this. And the best part about it is, I don’t have to
sleep with nobody no more, ever!

Daisy closed her pocketbook and got up from the table. She slid the chair back and closed the door behind her. She walked
out of the bank and hailed a cab. She certainly had no intention of going down into the dark, creepy train station under the
ground and being robbed by god knows who of her newly found fortune.
Uh uh, not me, no way.

As she paid the cab and opened the door to get out, she saw Sticks watching her, standing only a few feet from the cab. Where
he came from and how he got there, she didn’t know.

Damn, it’s only nine in the morning.

“Man, why the fuck you got me calling your phone like a fucking stalker?” he said, ready to grab her by her collar and throw
her in some bushes.

“Sticks, I ain’t even been home.”

“Yeah, good answer. Come on, we got to go to the lawyer’s office. I been trying to call you and tell you that the appointment
is today at 10:30
A.M
. Come on, you coming with me.” Sticks began to walk down the street toward his parked car. Daisy wondered if she could outrun
him.
Probably not.

“Sticks, really, I don’t want to do this. I’m not good at lying, and besides I don’t even know this guy.”

“You don’t have to know him. Just memorize his picture.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No, no fucking buts, do you understand,” he said, his blood pressure at a boiling point. “Don’t make me fucking hurt you,
Daisy, this is it,” he said, gripping her by her jacket and really getting ready to knock the shit out of her.

Feeling his anger and knowing that she was no match for him, she decided to just play along. The only thing was the money.
She wished she wasn’t carrying it around in her pocketbook. Lord knows, anything could happen, and Daisy was a shining example
of Murphy’s Law; anything that could go wrong, would go wrong. An hour and a half later, Sticks walked them through the doors
of the lawyer’s office.

“Hey, Mr. DeSimone, this is Daisy. Daisy, this is Mr. DeSimone.”

“Hi, Daisy. You can call me Bobby,” he said, shaking her hand lightly.

Surprisingly, the lawyer wasn’t that bad. He seemed to already know that she was a hired hand, and he didn’t ask her a bunch
of questions, but more or less told her what she would probably be asked and gave her all the answers to the questions. And
after it was all over with, she wished she had talked to Mr. DeSimone before speaking with Detective Delgado and Detective
Ross. Leaving the office, she actually felt better about the alibi. Bobby DeSimone, Esquire, had a way of talking as if he
had it all mapped out and it was nothing but a piece of cake. He made her feel relaxed and told her everything would be okay.
He handed her a subpoena on her way out the door of his office.

“See you guys in court,” he said.

“All right, sir, see you Wednesday,” said Sticks.

The only problem with the alibi was going to be Calvin Stringer, and unfortunately, she was the only one who knew that he
would blow Sticks’s alibi right out of the water in order to save his liquor license and the Honey Dipper. She thought about
speaking to Sticks about what Calvin had told her, but decided not to. Truth was, she had no intention of giving that alibi,
let alone even being in town next Wednesday.

Sticks turned onto Hadfield Avenue, pulled his car into a parking spot, and cut his ignition. He looked at Daisy for a moment,
wondering what she was thinking. He had had a bad feeling about her, a bad feeling that she wouldn’t come through, ever since
last week when he tried paging her and calling her house and she didn’t answer or return his calls. He knew then. He didn’t
dare speak, though; that would only bring heat on him. Daisy didn’t understand the situation fully; it wasn’t necessary for
her. The only thing to do was to stick to the story. Nothing else mattered, at least not to Simon Shuller. As long as there
was nothing that would or could end up leading back to him, no one needed to panic. But, the minute anything went down in
the streets, a bar, a club, a train, a plane, wherever, and there was a remote chance it would bring heat back to him, he
had no choice but to pick up the phone. And when he picked up the phone, oh, boy, it was a wrap. Reinforcements, silent soldiers,
eliminators, and the cleanup squad would come through, and before Sticks could count to ten, Nard, Daisy Mae, and Sticks’s
black ass would become invisible, and poof… just vanish into thin air never to be seen or heard from again. Houdini couldn’t
do a better job. And the only reason he was still running around in the streets was that Simon Shuller was giving him the
benefit of the doubt based on the fact that Nard was riding like a soldier, riding the time, riding for the murder trial,
riding to win, riding to come home. That was the only reason Simon Shuller didn’t blame his ass. He wasn’t working the police,
he wasn’t snitching, and he wasn’t cooperating. But had Nard spoken one word to the police or the DA’s office, you best believe,
the first weasel on Simon Shuller’s eliminator list would have been Sticks, because it was Sticks who had brought Nard around
and vouched for him. The second on his list would be Nard, and next up would be the last link to him, the chick who was giving
the alibi, Daisy Mae Fothergill, or whoever the hell she was.

“So, we straight?” he asked, waiting for her to stick him for a couple of dollars. Everybody had some kind of story when it
came to the almighty dollar. Sticks had heard eight million and one and counting.