King Divas (9 page)

I
can't get Momma Peaches's death off of my mind. I want to head to the hospital to check on Isaac, but the chief and deputy chief are blowing up my cell. I don't have to answer to know that they want another press conference—
stat.
Surely the people in this city are already tired of seeing my face on TV every other day. Lord knows that I'm tired of being seen.

Captain Johnson made it look so easy. Of course, he was crooked as hell too.

“Oh. Good. You're here,” Officer Foye says, poking his head through my door. “We got a hit on one of your cases.” He plops a folder down on my desk.

“Which case?”

“The three bodies from Hemp's liquor store.”

I blink up at him and finally swipe my mouth. “Hemp's? I don't know anything about that case.”

“I dropped off a copy of the case file this morning.” He gazes over my cluttered desk and then plucks out another folder. “Here it is.”

I take the folder with sickening dread. The hits keep on coming.

“Officers Coleman and Hendrix are working it.”

“All right. So what is it that you found?”

“Quick notes:There were three victims at the liquor store. One male, the owner; and two females. The two females have been fingerprinted and turn out to have records as long as the book
War and Peace
: an Emerald Jacobs and Nisha Randall. Body tats identify them as Vice Lord Flowers. They were killed by the owner, Muhammad Bassem.”

“And who took him out?”

He gestures to the brown envelope he brought in. “According to that copy of the security surveillance, an unidentified woman who entered the store with the two victims and another female. Four women walked in but two women ran out.”

“Burglary gone wrong?”

“Actually, no,” he says, surprising me. “It actually looks like a clear-cut case of self-defense. The owner waged a personal jihad on the ladies for some reason, but hadn't counted on one of the women being an excellent shot.”

I nod. “I'll take a look at the case a little later.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Been a little crazy around here lately, huh?”

“Something like that.” The phone rings, but I can only manage to stare at it.
Please. Don't nobody bring me no more bad news.
The caller ID reads, “Chief Brown.”

“Better answer it,” Officer Foye warns. “She tends to go nuclear when she thinks she's being ignored.” He backs out of the office with a wink.

He's right. I pick up the phone. “Captain Hawkins.”

“In my office,” Chief Brown barks and then slams the phone down.

Nuclear.
I exhale and then drop the phone back into its cradle. “May as well go and get this over with,” I mumble. Standing, I cram a cracker in my mouth and then rush to the chief's office. I don't know how much more of my ass she can chew, but it'll be interesting to find out.

However, the moment I step out of my office, I catch Diesel Carver breezing into the department. I stop walking mid-stride and stare as he sucks all the oxygen out of the room. Yes. He's handsome. My body's reaction is a testament to that. But he's something else too. He's dangerous. I've been unable to confirm it, but I'm from the streets. I know a dangerous man when I see one.

Fowler walks over and greets Carver and then leads him to a private room. He must've contacted Maybelline's nephew to deliver the bad news.

“Hawkins!”

I jerk at the sound of the chief shouting my name across the office like we're out in a field somewhere. Turning, I see her, grim-faced, waving me over.

“Coming.” I resume my march to the chief's office. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

“Have a seat,” she tells me without looking up.

Chief Yvette Brown leans her petite frame all the way back in her squeaky leather seat. What the woman lacks in stature she makes up in power, which she wears well.

I cross her office to the empty chair across from her desk. Days ago she had me in here to order that I close my investigation into Captain Johnson's suspected illegal activities.

“I'm going to get down to the point,” she says, lacing her fingers. “I know that your promotion was a few weeks back, but
some
are already expressing some concerns about whether you can handle the job.”

My heart drops. “What kind of concerns?”

“Well, I don't know whether you've noticed, but the city does seem to be under siege. Dead bodies are popping up all over the place and that damn car chase this morning, where people are now shooting at news copters, has taken us to a new low. And where were you?”

“I was right in the thick of it,” I tell her. “Spun off the road and was nearly wiped out.”

“So are you taking responsibility for having lost this suspect ? We look like amateurs out there! How are we supposed to have the city's confidence after that nonsense makes national news—again!”

“Chief Brown, I'm doing the best that I can.”

“
That
is what concerns us.”

I clamp my mouth shut in order to hold on to my temper. The last thing I need right now is to let my inner gangster come out.

“Look,” the chief says. “You seem overwhelmed. Even the press has hinted as much.”

Am I about to be fired ?
“I hear what you're saying—and I want to assure you that that's not the case. I can handle the job.”

Doubt remains etched in her face. “I'll tell you what I want to do. I want to bring Lieutenant Fowler in. See how he works out.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'm putting you both under a trial period. See who really is the better fit for the job.”

“A trial,” I repeat like I'm stuck on stupid.

“Honestly, I think it's the best solution. You both work side by side a lot as it is, so what's a little friendly competition?”

“Look. Don't take it personally. We can't have a citizenry living in fear. Fear leads to distrust. Distrust leads people to want change. People who want change march to the polls. Do I need to remind you that this is an election year? The mayor is feeling the heat. I can only carry the department so long, while case after case stacks up. Last year the clearance rate was forty percent. This year, we'll be lucky if we hit thirty-six percent.”

“Chief—”

“No. No. I understand. Most of this mess happened on Captain Johnson's watch—and it's a little unfair for us to expect a huge turnaround in such a short time. But nothing in life is fair. We all play the hand that we're dealt. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes. You're stabbing me in the back.”

“I'm disappointed that you see it that way—but the bottom line is that we need to start putting some wins on the board.”

“Understood.” I stand. “Anything else?”

“Yes. You can sit back down. I'm not finished.”

Our gazes crash.
This bitch is enjoying this shit.
Swallowing my pride, I lower myself back down into the chair.

“We're looking into maximizing our resources. The bigwigs have decided to form a multi-agency gang unit. It'll all be aimed at reducing gang activity in Memphis. It'll consist of six primary law enforcement agencies. We're going to streamline a lot of this shit so now the right hand will know what the left one is doing. We need to show the city that we're serious about winning the gang wars. You and Fowler will be the point of contact for our department. As a specialized unit, the MGU will use various techniques and methods to conduct long-term operations against gang leaders and hardcore members.” She reaches for a folder.

I reach over to accept the folder.

“Everything you need to know about the new unit is right there. Acquaint yourself with the material.” The chief flashes me her infamous plastic smile. “We're excited about this. I hope you are too.”

“Absolutely,” I lie.

The office fills with a thick, awkward silence.

“
Now
the meeting is over. You can leave.”

“Yes, Chief.” I climb to my feet and stroll to the door feeling humiliated.

When my hand closes around the doorknob, the chief adds one more thing. “By the way, I informed the media that you'll be conducting another press conference Monday morning.”

“Yes, Chief.” I exit the office, but I make damn sure that I slam the door behind me.

A
fter hours of questioning, I'm told that I'm free to go. Relieved and exhausted, I head out of the police department, still thinking about Momma Peaches. This news is going to come as a shock to the whole neighborhood. We'd all celebrated having her back after her horrendous kidnapping. I'm caught up thinking about how my own family is going to react, when I walk past an office window and spot Diesel Carver talking to Lieutenant Fowler.

My heart drops and I almost trip over air.
Why is he here? Has he come to confess?
The image of him jetting away from the church replays in my mind. I shake the question of a confession from my mind. I could be jumping to conclusions. Then I can't think of a logical reason why both him and Python were racing from the church within a couple of minutes of each other. If he wasn't involved somehow, why would he leave his poor aunt lying on the church floor.

My strides slow as I study the man's face. There's no emotion. He's sitting there as if he's in the middle of a championship poker game. I stop and wait. But as the minutes tick by, there's still nothing.

While the disturbing questions chase each other in my head, Diesel turns his head and meets my gaze. At long last, emotions ripple across his face: surprise, and then pleasure.

My stomach knots as he flashes me a smile. I don't return the kind gesture. Instead, I spin around and march off. The moment I step out of the station and breathe in the cool air, my head clears. Still, I don't know what to make of my suspicions.

Sound advice when it comes to dealing with anything out here in the streets. I cared about and admired Momma Peaches, but Lord knows she and her family were always in the thick of some mess.

Essence was killed because she got in the middle of Ta'Shara's family issues. I'm not about to do the same thing with the Carvers. Whatever happened inside of that church ain't none of my damn business.

I rush across the parking lot to my car. The second I pop my butt into the seat, my cell phone rings.

I toss the phone aside. I'm
still
not in the mood to deal with his shit.

Startled, I jump at the light tap on my car window. When I glance up, I'm surprised to see Diesel Carver. The front of his clothes are still covered in his aunt's blood. I hesitate, but then power down my window.

“Yes?”

The handsome devil flashes me a smile. “Trouble you for a ride?”

My hackles rise while the voice in the back of my head screams
No.
“Are you having car trouble?” I ask, glancing around the crowded police parking lot.

“Not exactly. I had an employee drop me off. I thought the interview would last longer than it did—but I don't want to be too much trouble if it's going to be out of your way.”

He's offering me an out, but instead of taking it, I say, “No, it's not too much trouble.”

“Great. I appreciate that.” He winks at me and then strolls around the car to the passenger side.

What the fuck did I do?
But by the time he slides into the passenger seat, I've tacked on a smile. After all, the man's aunt was just killed. The least I can do is be nice to him. “Where to—the hospital?”

“Actually, if you could take me over to my club that would be great,” he says. “I can use a shower.”

Damn. That
is
going to take me out of my way. “Sure. No problem.” I slide my key back into the ignition, start up the car, and roll out of the parking lot. The silence becomes awkward. Once I reach the third traffic light, I sneak a quick peek over at him to gauge how he's handling things.

He's staring at me.

I give him a flat smile and then turn on the radio. I need to fill the silence with something. To my surprise, he immediately reaches over and turns it back off.

“I hope you don't mind. I don't want to deal with the noise right now.”

“Of course. No. I understand.” I fidget in my seat before adding, “I'm really sorry for what happened to your aunt. She was a great lady.”

“Yes. She was.”

Okay. That's short and to the point.
I fidget some more. “Did they tell you what happened?”

“That some crazy hooligans shot up the church,” he says, his expression unreadable again. “I heard that crime has gotten out of control in the area.”

“Yeah.” I struggle to match his emotionless face. “It's still weird. I saw her last week in church.” I lick my lips nervously. “When was the last time you saw her?”

My heart hammers while I wait for his answer.

Diesel sighs. “I guess about a week ago. I took her home from the hospital and invited her to my club's opening.”

My heart shoots up into my throat.
This lying muthafucka!
I take a deep breath and then remind myself not to get involved. Searching for something to do, I turn on the radio again.

He turns it back off.

“Sorry. I forgot,” I say.

He doesn't respond. He simply stares.

Ignore him.
I force myself to focus on the road, but after a couple of minutes, I buckle under the weight of his stare. I cut a look in his direction. “Can you please stop doing that?”

He doesn't say anything.

“I mean it. You're making me uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. But . . . to ask me to stop staring is like asking me to cut out my eyes. You're beautiful.”

“Okay. Okay.” He tosses up his arms. “I'll try not to stare.”

“Thank you.”

“But no promises.”

He thinks he's being charming, but really he's coming off more like one of those creepy stalkers on the ID channel.

“So how are things with you and the, uh, boyfriend?” he asks out of the blue.

“My and Kalief's relationship is none of your business,” I tell him. “I already told you that last night.”

“Yes. Yes. I believe you said something about you being loyal.” Amusement creeps into his eyes.

I grit my teeth. “Yes. I am.”

“And what about
him
?”

The question is a punch in the face.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit a sore subject. I thought—”

“I really don't give a fuck what you think,” I snap. “I'm not going to discuss my personal business with you. So drop it.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “You got it.”

We ride along in silence for a full minute before he comes at me from a different angle. “Now, if
I
had a woman like you, I wouldn't dare dream of looking at another woman.”

I grind my teeth down another inch while my hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I would shower you in diamonds, dress you up in all the fashion greats out of Paris and Milan. And there would be nothing I wouldn't do to make sure
all
your dreams come true.”

These words find a chink in my armor. I sneak another look, and a bigger smile has eased onto his face. “Did you give this same line to that girl on your arm last night?”

“What girl?”

I roll my eyes. “Spare me. You're like all the other niggas out here, tryna run game.”

“Nah. Nah. I don't have a girl—just a few friends showing me a good time in a new city. But if you say the word, my friend list will get much, much shorter.”

“You need to learn how to take no for an answer.”

“And you need to learn how to say yes.”

I laugh.

“Finally. A smile.” He pumps out his chest. “I was beginning to think that you really didn't like me.”

A car horn blares. I glance up and see that a traffic light has turned green. As I ease off the brake, I flash the driver behind me the bird. “Calm down, asshole,” I say, pretending to be annoyed when in truth I'm embarrassed that this man has me blushing.

Diesel laughs. He knows what's up.

I want to say something that will knock that smug smile off his face, but all my clever quips fail me.

Sensing an opening, Diesel leans closer. “I want to take you out.”

“No,” I croak—but there was a beat before I answered and he picks up on it.

“There's no reason to be scared. You know that you want to. I promise. I'll treat you like a queen.”

Thank God, Club Diesel comes into view. “Here we are,” I say, pulling in front of the building.

He doesn't make a move toward the door. “You should come in. I believe that I still owe you a check for last night's performance.”

I perk up. I'd assumed that he paid Kalief, who was stalling on giving me and the band our money.

“It shouldn't take but a few minutes,” he says.

I hesitate because I need my money. “All right. I have a few minutes.”