Devilish Details (8 page)

“Hey, let’s talk about the risks to you.
Filipe will definitely start to thinking if he gets wind that
you’re looking for his money. Plus the city considers Candy Girls a
nuisance. Get involved in more trouble and you’ll play right into
their hands, and Lorraine’s.” Willa rocked back in her executive
chair. “We need to convince MiMi to let this thing go, or she’ll
cause us both problems.”

“We’ll have to threaten to whip her little
spoiled ass. You know how the girl is about money,” Jazz replied
mildly.

“There you go getting street again. We most
certainly will not threaten her” Willa frowned at Jazz like a
displeased school principal. She rocked back and forth for a few
seconds. “But yes, we’ll have a girlfriend lunch. She’ll see the
logic once we explain the risks for us all, including her.”

Jazz gazed at her older sister. Willa was
serious. MiMi and logic when a big pile of money was involved..?
Jazz gave a short laugh. “Yeah, okay. If you say so.”

Chapter 5

Two nights later, Jazz was too busy with a
Friday night crowd at Candy Girls to think much about MiMi or
missing dirty cash. Both the lounge and the tiny dining room she
generously called a restaurant were packed. Jazz helped out waiting
tables and ringing up take-out orders. Music blared all night. With
hardly a minute to take a breath, by just after midnight, everyone
was exhausted. Food orders dwindled. The serious party people
danced to a disc jockey duo Jazz had hired.

Tyretta and Jazz sat outside on the patio.
Rochelle, serious about cleaning since the health inspections,
continued sanitizing every utensil insight. They listened to the
clang-bang of her working in the kitchen with help from her older
brother Yancey. He helped out for cash to supplement his disability
income and feed his gambling problem as well. Tyretta noisily
sucked more beer from the can she held.

“Damn, guess everybody decided not to be
scared of the cops showing up,” she said.

“Folks forget about that stuff in this
neighborhood. Who hasn’t had the police at their house, ya know?”
Jazz replied. She coughed a bit after blowing out smoke. “I need to
quit these things.”

“Yeah, while you’re young,” Tyretta agreed.
“I’ve had my share of sins, but smoking ain’t been one of ‘em.
Watched my granddaddy die of emphysema. Now that’s a slow horrible
way to go, with your lungs burnt black and gasping for air. Damn.”
She shook herself as though willing away bad memories.

“Humph.” Jazz winced as she crushed the
remains of her cigarillo. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“For your own good.” Tyretta used the pinky
finger of the hand holding her beer to point at Jazz.

Rochelle came to the screen door leading to
the kitchen. “Hey, my brother Yancey took off on me. I told you not
to give him that money so quick, Jazz. Now I need help.”

“Woman, you’ve scrubbed every damn inch of
the place.” Tyretta stood despite her protest.

“And we had no violations at the last
inspection. Plus they could show up for a pop inspection any time.
Now come help me move this big pot.” Rochelle fanned her face with
one hand.

“Oh, well if that’s all.” Tyretta pulled the
screen door open.

“Then we’ll scrub the cook top, wipe down
the counters with disinfectant, and mop,” Rochelle said with a
crisp nod. “Now c’mon.”

“Damn,” Tyretta grumbled as she followed her
inside.

Jazz laughed at the loud complaints as
Rochelle barked orders that floated through the open door. Heat
from the kitchen kept her warm in the cool April night air.
Headlights flashed by as cars passed on the streets. Across a
vacant lot east of the club, a bright green “Open” sign blinked
off. The Keep It Clean Laundromat had extended hours to midnight on
Fridays and Saturdays. The owners, a Korean couple, loaded up their
Toyota SUV. The wife waved at Jazz and she waved back. Jazz loved
their “live and let live” attitude, and so they’d become
friends.

Soon most of the noise came from Candy
Girls. Single family homes stretched down the blocks around the
scattered small businesses. Lights glowed through cheap curtains or
blinds showing the mostly blue collar residents were home from
work. Jazz stood up to go inside when a voice stopped her cold.

“Hey, girl. Look, don’t yell or anything. I
just wanna talk to you, okay?” Kyeisha’s raspy words came out
jagged from nervous energy.

Jazz glanced to her left into the dark void
between the back wall of a vacant store and her building. The
clamor of customers having a good time sounded too far away.
Rochelle had pushed the solid door to the kitchen shut as she
mopped the floor. Kyeisha stayed in the shadows, just beyond the
soft glow of the single bulb illuminating the patio. Jazz strained
to get a clearer look, but couldn’t. She made no sudden moves.
Kyeisha could be armed. In fact she most likely was carrying a
weapon of some kind.

“Sure. What’s up?” Jazz said, hoping her
voice sounded calmer than she felt.

Kyeisha hissed a laugh. “You and all of
Baton Rouge know what’s up. I didn’t shoot that guy.”

“Okay, you might wanna tell the police cuz
I’m not the one lookin’ for ya. Running from ‘em won’t help. Trust
me cause I know,” Jazz replied.

“Shit, the police and DA don’t care who go
to prison. The more they send up, the better for them. You know
what I’m sayin’.”

“What about your friends or family? They can
talk to the police for you,” Jazz offered.

The harsh sizzle of curse words sliced
through the darkness. Too late Jazz remembered Kyeisha’s family
situation, both parents in prison. Her combination of half and
whole siblings were spread out between Baton Rouge and Houston,
Texas. They were just as likely to claim any reward offered by the
authorities for turning her in.

“Lorraine won’t call me back. The rest of
those bitches showin’ me they ain’t no friend of mine. The only
brother that might talk to me is on the road in his truck. I’m not
gonna tell you what his wife said when I tried to explain.”
Kyeisha’s footsteps shuffled in the darkness, a habit she had when
stressed.

“Yeah, tough spot,” Jazz said, working hard
to think her way out of her own tough spot.

“Can’t trust nobody,” Kyeisha blurted
out.

“You got something to offer the DA., right?
Get a deal.” Jazz hoped her security guard would take a break and
show up. The desperation in Kyeisha’s voice worried her.

“I grabbed a bag of cash from the place when
the shootin’ started. Been stayin’ in a motel across the river,”
Kyeisha muttered low as though talking more to herself than to
Jazz. “Ain’t safe being out here.”

“Cleavon got any ideas on your next move?”
Jazz replied.

“Let’s go in your apartment. You first.
Don’t yell or nothin’. I’m just sayin’ keep it quiet.” Kyeisha took
one step to the edge of the yellow light, enough to let Jazz see
she held a gun. She kept it pointed at the ground. Small
comfort.

Jazz didn’t move. “Is Cleavon with you?”

“Just get up,” Kyeisha snapped.

“Okay, okay. Keep it cool,” Jazz replied
evenly. Her anxiety turned to anger, but she worked on controlling
her temper.

She glanced at the rear entrance to the
club. The door had swung shut. Jazz tried sending psychic signals
to Tyretta or Byron, since it was his night to work security.
Surely one or both would come looking for her soon. She tried
walking slow, but Kyeisha hissed at her back.

“Don’t try nothin’ cute, Jazz.”

“I don’t know what you talkin’ about, Kee.
I’m doing what you asked. Damn,” Jazz replied in a casual way.
“I’ve got to get my key out and stuff. You need to relax.”

“You try relaxin’ with cops and thugs on
your ass,” Kyeisha shot back. “Now move it.”

“I’m movin’,” Jazz said.

With Jazz in the lead, they climbed the
stairwell to Jazz’s apartment. Still none of her employees came
outside. The loud thumping beat of bass from speakers and muffled
raucous laughter told her they were busy. Kyeisha had picked the
perfect night to show up. No doubt she’d been keeping watch
somehow. Jazz didn’t believe her talk about having no friends.
Kyeisha had a cunning streak.

When Jazz opened the two bolt locks and
pushed the door open, Kyeisha shoved her through. Kyeisha kicked
the door to shut it, but only succeeded in causing it to bounce
back hard. The sturdy fiberglass and steel door slapped against
Kyeisha back throwing her off balance. Jazz punched her in the face
twice with as much force as she could.

“I’ma kill you,” Kyeisha huffed in rage as
she staggered to one side.

Jazz concentrated on twisting the gun out of
Kyeisha’s right hand. They s they fought for control of the gun.
Jazz let out a string of profane threats. Adrenaline and anger
pushed her on. She managed to jam one knee into Kyeisha’s side. The
shout of pain sounded like sweet music. Then a shot from the
revolver exploded in the room. Kyeisha still held on cursing. She
braced the heels of her athletic shoes on the carpet to keep Jazz
from moving her. Forever seemed to go by until heavy steps sounded
on the stairs.

“Get your ass off me,” Jazz managed to get
out, though breathless and not as loud as she wanted.

“Hey, Jazz,” Byron yelled. “You okay?”

“Hell no, she’s got a gun,” Jazz screamed.
As if to prove her point, another shot went off. “Damn it, Kyeisha.
The cops are on their way. Give it up.”

“Bitch, I just wanted to talk to you. This
shit is all your fault,” Kyeisha wheezed.

Jazz brought her head up and butted
Kyeisha’s chin hard. The squeal of agony gave her great
satisfaction. At the same time she managed to twist Kyeisha’s
wrist. The handgun fell to the floor. Then she landed a solid kick
in to Kyeisha’s left shin.

“Ow, shit. Owwee.” Kyeisha went to her knees
then rolled onto her side holding her face.

Just then Byron and another man stumbled
through the door. The lights switched on. The other guy, a rough
looking local from the neighborhood, held his own gun. Both men
looked around the room wildly.

“Damn, how many of ‘em in here?” Byron burst
out.

“I got this one,” the other man said,
pointing his pistol at Kyeisha.

Jazz supported herself with one hand on the
sofa back nearby. She gasped for air to regulate her breathing and
get her shattered nerves under control. “Check my bedroom and the
bathroom just in case.”

Byron nodded. He went down the hall past
Jazz’s kitchen and came back seconds later. “Naw, ain’t nobody got
in.”

“Okay.” Jazz sat down on the sofa arm. “The
police?”

“Not unless some of the neighbors called. I
only heard because I was out in the parking lot. Some woman got too
drunk and too loud. I was helping her friends get her into the car.
Ray-Ray came along ‘bout that time. Thanks, man.” Byron nodded at
Ray-Ray.

“Hey, y’all helped me out one time,” he
rumbled, referring to the alibi Jazz gave him less than a year
before. He was indeed at the club when a ‘business rival’ was
assaulted. “Who the fuck this?”

“A friend,” Kyeisha spat and then grunted in
pain.

“Ain’t no pals of mine come visiting with a
gun,” Ray-Ray shot back. He seemed perfectly at ease holding
someone at gunpoint.

“Hold up,” Jazz broke in. Sirens keened but
then faded. “Well that’s one advantage of being in the hood. People
hear gunshots and keep cookin’ supper.”

“Nearest houses at least two blocks away.
You got some good insulation up in here, remember?” Byron looked
more at ease as well. Knowing he wasn’t up against an armed gang no
doubt helped. “Ray-Ray, go tell Lil’ Eric all clear.”

“Right. See ya lata.” Ray-Ray gave them both
a nod. He stared at Kyeisha as he made a wide circle around her to
the door.

“You need me to stay here?” Byron kept his
gaze on Kyeisha as he directed his question to Jazz.

“I got the two way radio. I’ll leave it on
Channel three. Help me tie her up first.”

Jazz went to the small desk in a corner of
her open floor plan, her office. She retrieved another two way
radio. She’d gotten them for her security staff to use during large
parties at the club. Then she pulled a chair from her dining table
to the middle of her living room. She jogged to her bedroom and
came back with a long scarf.

“Uh-huh.” Byron pulled plastic handcuffs
from a back pocket of his jeans as Jazz came back and held Kyeisha
down.

“What the fu--” Kyeisha twisted around on
the floor and batted away his big arms, or tried to. “Y’all ain’t
gonna throw me in the swamp somewhere. Get off me, mutha...”

“Shut up. We been nice considerin’,” Byron
boomed at her.

“Nice hell! I came by here to talk and this
crazy...”

Jazz stood back once Kyeisha’s wrists were
bound behind her. She hooked a hand under one arm while Byron
grabbed the other. They lifted Kyeisha to a standing position and
marched her to the chair. Before she realized what was happening,
Byron had tied one of her ankles to a chair leg. Kyeisha kicked out
at him. Jazz slapped her hard until her head bounced.

“Bitch, you gonna be so sorry,” Kyeisha
shouted.

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Jazz
leaned down and spoke close into her ear. “You want more of that,
keep kicking.”

Kyeisha glared at her, but kept her leg
still as Byron secured it. “This ain’t even called for, Jazz.”

“I’ll check in with you once I’m
downstairs,” Byron said. He left with one last scowl at
Kyeisha.

Jazz wiped the sweat from her forehead and
fanned herself. The ringing in her ears from the gunshots made her
feel disoriented. Still she forced herself to move around.
Kyeisha’s furious gaze followed Jazz’s movements around the
apartment. Jazz checked all the windows to make sure they were
locked. She made sure Kyeisha could not move, then Jazz went into
the bathroom. She leaned against the sink, a wet towel pressed
against her throat. When Jazz went back to the living room, Kyeisha
blinked at her. She sat still but her gaze darted around as though
searching for a way out. Jazz got a matching chair from the table.
Before she sat down, she got two bottles of water from her
refrigerator. Twenty minutes had ticked by. Jazz’s nerves and hands
were less shaky. She still felt like she had cotton balls stuffed
in her ears. Jazz studied Kyeisha for another ten minutes as she
sipped water. Then she uncapped the second bottle and extended
it.