Devilish Details (3 page)

“I think they hooked up with some of those
Spanish dudes that started movin’ south of LSU. Off GSRI Road, you
know where I’m talkin’ about. Or maybe they got into a turf fight
with ‘em. I don’t know. That was three years ago maybe.” Tyretta
sat back and warmed to her subject.
“Yeah, I heard they kissed and made up, started doing deals
together. Or something.”

“Nice history lesson, Tyretta. Now get back
to...” Jazz’s head snapped up. “What did you say about Spanish
dudes?”

“You know I was livin’ in Atlanta back in
the day, moved there in 2005 for a minute. When I came back in
2007, I dated this guy named Rasheed. Damn, he was fine but
he--”

Jazz cut her off to redirect her back.
“Right, Rasheed was all that. But what about the Spanish
dudes?”

“Some crazy gangsters from Houston and Cali
I remember. Rasheed used to party with them. Wonder where he is
now?” Tyretta brushed her long locks as though expecting handsome
Rasheed to walk through the office door.

“In prison. Got thirty years for stabbing
his girlfriend. She almost died. You remember the names of any of
those Hispanic gangsters?” Jazz got up and came around the
desk.

“Damn, he didn’t even kill the girl and he
got thirty years,” Tyretta said.

“She was the third person he attacked in
four years, and he had a record for other stuff. That dude is a
violent psycho with a nice body and charming smile. Good thing
y’all broke up.”

Jazz leaned against her desk and crossed her
arms. She’d rattled off Rasheed’s fate, but her mind was on another
handsome gangbanger, one from her own past and with a sexy, silky
Spanish accent. Filipe Perez had been her lover of the moment four
years earlier, but Jazz didn’t remember Brandon Wilks. Not that she
knew all of his thug life associates. Like Rasheed, Filipe was in
prison. Jazz hadn’t kept in touch, mainly because she’d helped put
him there.

“Damn, Rasheed. You crazier than I thought
you was,” Tyretta said and stood up.

Chyna knocked though the door was halfway
open. “Hey, I wanna take a break, Ty. Not many guys out there, so
you won’t be running your legs off. Sorry, Jazz.”

“We’ll pick up by Friday or Saturday,” Jazz
said, her thoughts not on the small crowd or weekend.

“Okay, I’m comin”, Tyretta replied and waved
to her. When Chyna left, Tyretta turned back to Jazz. “So you know
that guy what got shot after all?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I can find out though.
Bet my pain in the ass sister can tell me but not before I have to
hear a long lecture. Guess I’m going to put up with her smart mouth
kids and crazy aunts.”

“Quit frontin’, ‘cuz you love those kids.”
Tyretta had a distracted expression as though her thoughts were
elsewhere. “You’re lucky to have a place where you’re welcome.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jazz retorted with snort.
She sent a text message to Willa accepting the Sunday dinner
invitation and asking for a favor. Then she plotted out making time
to do some of her own research.

Chapter 2

“Well at least she closes that den of
iniquity on Sundays,” Aunt Ametrine said in her usual judgmental
stage whisper, knowing full well the subject of her criticism could
hear her. She looked at Willa’s daughter Mikayla. “Pass me the
peas, baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mikayla complied and then
glanced at her seventeen-year-old brother. “What’s a den of
iniquity?”

Anthony lost his look of bored distraction,
the expression he used around his elders. His brown eyes twinkled.
“That means Aunt Jazz operates a place where it ain’t nothin’ but a
part-ee, part-ee. Get down and part-ee,” he sang the words while
bobbing his head.

“Hey! Ain’t nothin’ but a part-ee,” Mikayla
joined in with gusto. She dropped her fork and waved her hands in
the air like the popular hip hop artists her mother disliked.

“Heh-heh,” Papa Elton grinned at their
antics but wiped it from his face at the dirty looks from his wife
and Willa.

“Stop that,” Mama Ruby said, her voice
sharper than a steak knife.

“Ahem, yes ma’am,” Anthony replied and
shushed his baby sister. Still, he wore the remnant of a smirk.

“Yes, Mama Ruby,” Mikayla answered
dutifully.

Willa spread her squint of disapproval from
her adoptive father to her son. “Daddy, don’t encourage them. Y’all
have been watching those old blaxploitation movies from the
seventies too much.”

“I like the funk,” Anthony offered. He
smothered a laugh when Aunt Ametrine slapped a hand on her
chest.

“Lord have mercy, the things these young
people say,” Aunt Ametrine huffed in true church lady fashion.

Papa Elton cocked a thick black eyebrow at
her. “Oh calm down, Ametrine. Funk is a music genre from back in
the day. You ought to know. You was on the dance floor with the
rest of us at The Spot back in the seventies. Remember? Yeah, your
favorite group was the P-Funk All Stars. You was dating that guy
Junior Patin and--”

“Yes, and I changed my life around for the
better,” Aunt Ametrine cut him off. She patted her face with a
napkin. “Praise Jesus for his grace and mercy. Beryl, wasn’t the
choir in fine form at worship this morning?”

Willa’s Aunt Beryl blinked at her sister in
surprise. “Um, yes indeed. Sister Carter’s niece has a beautiful
voice.”

The conversation shifted to topics more
comfortable for Aunt Ametrine. Willa’s kids joked as they helped
her clear the table. At Willa’s urging, the older adults agreed to
have dessert in her living room. Jazz picked up a couple of serving
platters and trailed after her sister from the dining room to the
spacious kitchen. Once saucers of cake and a silver pot of hot
coffee were loaded on a wheeled tray, the kids went off to serve
their elders. The sound of their voices in spirited discussion
floated in. When they were alone, Willa faced Jazz.

“You know Aunt Ametrine is just... being
herself. She doesn’t mean any harm.” Willa shrugged at the look
Jazz gave her. Then she finished loading the dishwasher.

“Yeah, she’s holier than everybody to let
her tell it. But Mr. Elton got her good though.” Jazz barked a
laugh. “He was about to yank some skeletons out her closet, and
them bones still had meat on ‘em.”

Willa suppressed a giggle by pursing her
lips. “Mama Ruby is going to get on him I bet.”

“I don’t think so. Miss Ruby didn’t say a
peep. She was trying too hard not to laugh. I’m getting a picture
of Sister Ametrine getting funky on the dance floor.” Jazz grabbed
a dish towel and waved it in the air as she shook her hips. She did
her imitation of Aunt Ametrine’s generous butt sticking out as she
moved.

“You got Aunt Ametrine down. Like Papa Elton
said, bet she got loose and real funky,” Anthony said from the
archway that led to the dining room. He cut a couple of moves too
while making the sounds of a beat.

“Stop it, Anthony. Show some respect for
your great-aunt,” Willa said, forcing a stern expression.

“Yes, ma’am.” Anthony stopped dancing. He
shot a glance at Jazz and grinned.

“What did you come in here for anyway?”
Willa asked.

“Grandmamma wants ice cream.” Anthony
cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Okay, then get busy.” Willa got out a tray
and piled bowls on it with spoons. Anthony got a container of ice
cream from the freezer and left with the tray. “You see what you
started? He’ll be imitating his Aunt Ametrine for days.”

“You mean like this?” Jazz struck another
pose with her butt in the air and shimmied across the tile
floor.

“Stop it,” Willa said. She lost the battle
to be disapproving and burst into loud laughter until tears came
down her nut brown cheeks. She got control. “Girl, you too
crazy.”

“Hey, somebody gotta lighten up these
Sunday-come-to meetings,” Jazz wisecracked. “Anyway, thanks for
including me.”

“Of course you’re included. Always,” Willa
said and gave Jazz a hug.

Jazz cleared her throat and moved away.
Sentimental moments had been few and far between in her life. Willa
had more experience with that sort of thing. Somehow Willa had come
out with fewer scars from Vivienne and a succession of foster
homes. But then, she hadn’t suffered the same kind of trauma Jazz
had gone through. The memory of abuse tried to push through Jazz’s
defenses. Sometimes a touch or a scent set off flashbacks to that
night and... Jazz started to get a cigarillo from her purse in the
pantry, then she remembered Willa’s strict no smoking policy.
Do
something with your hands, move.
Jazz strode back to the dining
room with the dish towel. She gathered up the table cloth, put the
lovely centerpiece back on the polished wood table, and went to the
laundry room. Once she’d started the wash cycle, Jazz went back to
the kitchen and started cleaning the granite countertops.

“Hey, you don’t have to do all that,” Willa
said over her shoulder as she scrubbed a ceramic serving bowl she
didn’t want to put in the dishwasher.

“You don’t want stains to set in the
tablecloth.” Jazz kept moving around the kitchen, looking for other
things to do.

“Hey, hey. Slow it down, girl. Remember I’ve
got household help. Why else would anybody have kids, right?” Willa
quipped. Her smile faded as she looked at Jazz. “You okay? I mean
the other night...”

“Yeah, oh right. The cop thing at my club.
That was nothin’. Unless...” Jazz felt the anxiety ease its grip on
her chest. She breathed easier as she sat down on a stool. Propping
her elbows on the long breakfast bar, she studied her big sister.
“You didn’t happen to do a little digging. Mighty strange you were
on the phone calling to see if I was alright. How’d you know
anyway?”

“Ahem, one of my friends is a reporter at
WKXL. She was listening to her police scanner and heard Candy Girls
mentioned.” Willa swiped the bowl dry and started washing a second
matching one.

“So you got eyes and ears around town.
Humph, that’s damn smart.”

Jazz had to admit she was impressed. Like
most, Jazz had been skeptical that her bourgie sister could handle
the rough and tumble of a security and protection business in the
‘hood. Willa had inherited Crown Protection when her ex-husband was
murdered. Before he died, Willa had moved into being a solidly
middle-class soccer mom, complete with pearls and twinsets.

“Thanks, but just so you know, I’m not
keeping tabs on you,” Willa added.

“Sure, sure. I believe you.” Jazz watched
Willa continue her routine of everything in its place and a place
for everything. Wheels turned as Jazz crossed one leg over the
other.

Willa put away her matching serving pieces
in the cabinet with glass doors that displayed them. Then she
joined Jazz at the breakfast bar. She gazed at Jazz’s three inch
heel red leather boots. “I love those. They are gorgeous.”

“These? Hey, you can borrow them anytime.”
Jazz stretched out one leg. The black velvet leggings were neatly
tucked into the boots. “I got another pair like this in black.
Girl, got these on one of those sites online with designer clothes
cheap. Here, try ‘em on.”

“Okay, hold it,” Willa blurted out and waved
a hand in the air. “Now I know you’ve got something up your slick
little sleeve. C’mon, out with it.”

Jazz stopped in the act of unzipping one
boot. “What? We wear the same shoe size I think, and I know you
don’t have nothin’ hot like this. That sexy Cedric would sit up and
beg if you stepped into the office tomorrow wearing these.”

“Cedric and I, I mean we... How many times I
have to say he’s my employee?” Willa stammered. Then she scowled at
Jazz. “And don’t try to fake me out by changing the subject to
Cedric and me, not that there is a ‘Cedric and me’.”

“Well there
would
be a ‘Cedric and
you’ if you stopped dressing like a Black Barbie Goes to the Office
doll. Those boring suits and...” Jazz broke off when Willa planted
a fist on one hip. “Just sayin’.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Willa
demanded.

“Me? Why certainly not, dear sister. I’ve
been walking a straight line ever since Reverend Fisher set me down
the path of redemption.” Jazz stared back at Willa. “I don’t
appreciate that look of skepticism.”

“Two words about your path, Candy Girls. You
could have opened a restaurant, a clothing boutique, or even a
manicure shop. A bar with girls dancing naked?” Willa crossed her
arms.

“I have a restaurant,” Jazz shot back. “And
my dancers are not naked. It’s against city ordinance. Your mama
operates a bar.”

“Mama Ruby’s place is a full service cafe.
Her bar features some of the best bands around south Louisiana, and
her waitresses are fully clothed,” Willa countered, ticking her
points off on the fingers of one hand.

“Yeah, well she’d triple her net receipts if
she took some of those clothes off her waitresses,” Jazz quipped
and laughed at the squinty-eyed look Willa gave her.

“Such a smart-ass,” Willa retorted and
hopped off the stool. She put two slices of red velvet cake on
dessert plates and came back to sit down.

“Careful, Aunt Ametrine will throw some of
that anointed oil on you for cussin’ like a backslider. By the way,
Mama Ruby gave me business advice. Pretty good advice, too.”

“Yeah, you just didn’t mention the naked
dancing girls in your business plan.” Willa stuck cake in her mouth
and chewed.

“Half-naked, thank you.” Jazz grinned and
winked at Willa. When her sister rolled her eyes, Jazz sighed.
“Okay, I’m still the foster kid Mama Ruby couldn’t get to
straighten up. Too many rules for me. I’m more like Vivienne than
you.”

“No, you’re not like
her
,” Willa
said. For years she’d avoided calling Vivienne mother. “Biology is
not destiny. We all consider you family. Dion and Shaun included.
They’re our brothers even though we don’t share birth parents.
We’re here for you. Always.”