More Money for Good (4 page)

Looking around for two million while a woman lay dead in her house was as taxing as an eighteen-hour workday. We were back in the car and I suggested a few cold beers on me, at a tiny neighborhood corner bar, but Tavious balked at the idea. He'd grown tired of small places. I completely understood. Instead, he had me pull the car over at a gas station and he walked out with a six that we proceeded to drink in the parking lot of my shop.

“I hated seeing her up in there like that,” Tavious uttered right after he cracked open his can. “I've known her for over twenty years and didn't even get to see Amara as a free man again. I can see someone stealing the money. But killing her? What's that about?”

“Maybe someone else thought she was still in the game,” I let him know.

“Guess so,” Tavious answered, but it didn't sound like he believed it.

“Cared for her a lot, huh?”

“Basically all I had, man. Always took my calls, she always made sure my account was full. Made sure I kept my head clear to do the twenty, man . . . Yeah, she was always there. Really the only family I got besides Grands.”

“And if you ever wondered, she loves you too,” I let him know. “And I love her,” I made clear.

He smiled. “Yeah, she does. I was so pissed at myself that I had let her down when I got popped,” Tavious reflected.

I asked him, “What about the rest of your family?”

Tavious paused. He took a long swig of brew, put the empty in the bag, grabbed another, then popped it open and drank half of that. “I never knew my dad. I don't think my mom did either.” He laughed it off. “And my mother left Atlanta when I got locked up.”

“Left?”

“Yeah, it wasn't without warning either. She always told me—when she had an idea I'd gotten into the game—told me if I got caught, she was leaving and never returning. And I hear it's exactly what she did. Grands said when she found out that I'd gotten arrested she packed her bags and left, and we haven't heard from her since.”

I had to take a swig of my brew after that bit of information. “Wow, you haven't seen her since you went in twenty years ago?”

“Nah, man, I haven't seen her since she cooked breakfast for me that morning. Not even a letter. When she found out I got arrested, I took her for her word that she wasn't coming to see me and that she was leaving town. My mom hated what I did and wasn't going to deal, man, not going to even do it—she swore to it.”

“That's some tough love.”

“Or no love. Depends on how you look at it.”

All of a sudden the parking lot is overcome by an awful rattling banging noise that sounds like it's on top of my ride. It shocks Tavious so much he spills some brew on his shirt. I look toward my left and a car is passing, going about three miles an hour, and honestly thinking the shit coming from his trunk is appealing for all to hear.

Tavious throws his empty can of beer in the bag again, then reaches for another. “I been inside all these years and that shit there—with the music, man . . . now, that's some bullshit.”

I laugh. “You sound like an old man,” I tell him.

Tavious thought a minute. “I guess I do, but I still feel twenty. All this out here is different, man. Being on the inside then coming out fuckin' crazy. These fools out here don't care about who they inconvenience.”

“Don't worry, you'll get used to it.”

“I guess,” he said.

“You have any idea who would have done your girl like that?”

Tavious kept his eyes on his beer can. “Nah. She didn't roll with too many because of the fact she had the money stashed and, as far as I know, she didn't have a man running in and out of there; although I'm sure she had someone coming through from time to time.” Tavious turns and looks at me like he didn't even want to imagine that scenario for whatever reason.

“Well, whoever went through that house knew what they were looking for.”

“And they found it, and walking around with something I've waited twenty years to get my hands on.”

“So, your plan was to work in the shop with your pockets full, without putting any attention on yourself?”

Tavious kind of smiled. “Yeah, that was it. Not initially, but when my old lady came to me weeks before I was released and said you would be willing to let me work at your shop, it became the plan.”

“Not a bad plan,” I let him know.

There was a pause so strange it made me look at Tavious.

“Well, I'm thinking you can help me with this new one,” he said.

I've been in the predicament of coming home late after a few beers before with my lady waiting on me, anticipating a night of romance, but it wasn't Lauren. It was right before I gave the nod to delve into the monster of a scheme Lauren cooked up while on jury duty when we first met. That night with my ex ended badly, but I was determined not to let it happen the same way, so as soon as I opened the door, I was willing and ready to keep the peace.

When I walked inside the house Lauren was standing in the foyer, still wearing the baby-doll. “Hey, baby,” she said.

I stood still, captivated by how good she looked and shocked that I'd only taken one step inside. It was so very similar and eerie to my experience with my ex.

“How's everything?” she wanted to know without a hint of being upset with me.

Very cautiously I told her things were good.

“Want something else to drink? I can get you another beer, if you like.”

I still hadn't moved because familiarity with the situation told me it was some kind of set-up. Lauren smiled, turned away, and sashayed into the kitchen, and I followed her feeling like an ox before slaughter.

I stopped at the kitchen island and admired our marble top I'd bartered to get from a remodeler whose company trucks needed work. I watched as she bent over nice and slow into the fridge, pulling out a beer. She walked over to the sink, rinsed the top off, then popped the can open and poured it into my favorite glass, then set it down in front of me.

If she was trying to confuse me she had accomplished her mission, as I stood there wondering if I should take a sip of my beer. I couldn't tell if she was upset with me. I had never stayed out later than expected without giving her a call.

She smiled. “You okay?”

I smiled back, paused, then said, “Yes . . . are you?”

“I'm fine, silly . . . why wouldn't I be?”

In my mind it was another trick so I didn't say anything. I picked up my glass, gave her a confirming smile of gratitude, drank some of the beer, and smiled at her again.

“So, did you find out if anything was bothering Tavious?”

Over the few years Lauren and I had been together I could truly say our relationship was built on trust. At one point in time I thought she wanted marriage, so I asked for her hand, but she surprised me and said she would be okay with the title of lifetime partner, as long as it was loving and trustworthy. I was taken aback by it a bit. But after she sat down with me and I actually got her point of view on the marriage statistics, looking at it I had to agree. Love and commitment is love and commitment, paper or not.

But tonight, I had walked up on a murder, a gruesome murder of a good friend of a former drug kingpin who was fresh out the penitentiary. No, I was not letting that speck of info into our atmosphere, because I didn't know how it happened and I damn sure didn't want to involve Lauren, no matter how street smart she was.

“He's just having a bit of anxiety with trying to get adjusted back to society and all,” I let her know.

“Is he going to be all right? He's not thinking of doing anything that will get him put back in, is he?”

“No, he'll be fine. He needed someone to listen to him vent. There is so much to the penal system that I wasn't aware of, babe.”

Lauren smiled and then placed a wondrous look on her face. I asked if she was okay, right before I took in more beer.

“Yes, I'm fine.”

“You sure are,” I let her know. “Is that baby-doll for me?”

“If you want it to be . . . I mean if you're not too tired from being out tonight.”

“No way. Didn't I promise I would take care of you?”

Lauren snuggled up against me. “Sure did . . .”

Back at the shop it had been jumping busy for the past three days and we were one mechanic short and that tech just happened to be Tavious. I hadn't seen nor heard from him since the night we saw Amara's dead body. That first day back to work he missed was completely understandable. The second day I was a little annoyed because he didn't call, but I still understood. His friend was dead. On the third day, I at least expected a call from him to let me know his plans for the rest of the week so I could make scheduling changes, or even give some work to a mechanic or two who I knew were out of work. But, I held out and found myself working in his bay, changing a catalytic converter for a woman who thought the process should take five minutes to complete.

I hadn't called Mrs. Bullock to see if things were okay. But I promised myself it was next on my to-do list. I was standing checking the connections under the 2002 Volvo converter and a voice came from behind the front right wheel of the car.

“That thing on tight?”

I turned to look behind me; it was Tavious. I gave him a long gaze. “Yeah, she's ready to roll. 'Bout to drop her down now.”

Tavious moved closer for a bit more privacy. “Look, West . . . I know I should have called in but . . .”

I had cooled a bit after finishing the job. There was no way I was going to even begin to think I understood the feelings coming from this man who had been waiting to see someone for over twenty years, then when he finally got a chance to see her she was dead. Besides, I needed to get my hands dirty for old time's sake anyway. It reminded me of when my garage was on the curb in front of my house. I thumped Tavious on the shoulder and just asked him if he was okay. He looked tired and a bit worried. No doubt the two million and the death of his friend were lying hard on him. He was far from the bright-eyed man Mrs. Bullock brought in on his first day to meet me. When I first laid eyes on him my initial thoughts were that he was nowhere near reaching into his forties because his body had been well maintained. But now he looked in need of some good news and worry-free rest.

I walked over to the entrance of the bay, hit the switch so the Volvo could touch the ground, and I motioned Tavious over to me. “Look, while you were out, I had a chance to think about what this place needs around here to get it clicking the way I want it. And I thought about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“What, you've come up with a plan to help me get my money?”

I kind of chuckled. “Oh yeah, that . . . I don't think so, Tavious. Whoever has your money is probably more of a problem than I want to deal with.”

Tavious took a deep breath and looked away from me.

“But what I did decide was to make you in charge of my lean program.”

“Lean what?”

“Lean program. It's a process program on how to get these guys around here to work smarter and stop wasting so much material and shit.”

Tavious looked at me with distaste and confusion.

“Don't worry about it . . . you'll understand more when I get all the information to you.”

“But—”

“Don't worry about it. If it's more money you want, consider it done. I just think with being locked up all those years, you have a lot of experience with working with what you have, and keeping things in order. I don't know if you noticed, but I listened to you the night we were in the car. I heard what you said about how difficult it is for felons—”

Tavious interrupted me. “Nonviolent, West.”

“My mistake, nonviolent criminals, to come back into society and get work. So what I want to do is get you more involved around here. Doing more than just working on the cars. I am going to give you more responsibility, so one day if you want, you can get your own shop or even run the next one I open up.”

“Look, I don't have time for that, West. I need to get my money,” he said back to me, almost chuckling.

“Don't worry about it. Come to the office a little later and I will give you all the info I have on getting this place into shape.”

We were standing eye to eye now. I was expecting Tavious to show some type of excitement; after all, I was putting into place something he said didn't exist. But all I got was a blank stare and a pat on the back. Then he told me thank you and walked back to the locker room to get ready for work.

I went back to my office and sat behind my desk to take a breather. It had been much too long since I'd been under a car. I circled the next Tuesday coming on my calendar to make it a point to go at it again, to keep my skills sharp. My eyes traveled along my desk to a note I wrote myself to call Mrs. Bullock. Initially it was to check on Tavious, but my call this time would be to tell her that I hadn't seen a change in him and in my estimation he was okay, just so she wouldn't worry. He still had his mind set on getting that money. But I didn't want to bother Mrs. Bullock with any unnecessary chat about a dead body and millions of dollars that disappeared that Tavious wanted. That alone would more than likely put old girl in stroke status. Hopefully, Tavious would just let things blow over.

I made the call to Mrs. Bullock, assured her everything was okay; then I kicked back in my chair, put my feet up on my desk, and fell asleep for what seemed like two seconds before I was awakened by my feet being pushed off my desk. Two men now standing in my office were looking over me.

“Are you West Owens?” one of them demanded as I struggled to get my bearings.

“Yeah, I'm West. Who the fuck are you?”

One of the men looked over at the other and smiled, then said, “Police,” in a deep baritone voice. He took a few steps closer and proceeded to knock some of the papers I had on my desk to the floor; then he sat down on my desk like he owned it.

Police or not, I didn't like the fact that he had the nerve to put his hands on me nor stand in my shop and act like he was in control of everything inside it. I stood up to show my displeasure. “Look, I don't know who or what you guys want, but I do know you're going to respect my place of business.”

The smirks on their faces let me know they had heard my spiel before. These were young cats. The white one was razor-sharp bald and somewhat familiar, so I kept my eye on him the most. He looked like his bed was probably in the middle of a gym someplace, and he was in need of a tailor who could extend his fabric on his suit so he could breathe. The black one was a little taller, leaner, with a haircut like a marine Mr. T style with beady eyes. He was the one who slapped at my feet and would be the one I would have chosen to knock out if someone put their hand on me again. At that moment I could tell my distain for the police had not subsided since my run-in with Captain Stallings of the Atlanta Police Department. I just couldn't tolerate how they did business.

“Off the desk,” I told him.

He couldn't have moved from my desk any slower as he asked, “So, you're West Owens?” The black one wanted to know.

“Did the barber cut your ears off, too?” I asked him.

His partner put his head down and smiled. That's when I realized who he was. He worked with Stallings and was the cop who pulled me over in my car, pounded me in the face, and took me to the abandoned house when I was on jury duty.

“You're right, he is a handful, Gus,” the black cop, whose nametag read WILLIAMS, blurted out.

I turned to Gus. “Oh, so you seem to think you know me, Gus? What do you guys want?”

“We want to talk to Tavious Bell. Does he work here?”

“I might have to look through all this paperwork in these files to tell you that. You guys want to wait?”

Gus was plain and clear. “If it takes you too long, I could go see Mrs. Bullock and ask her,” he said.

 

Tavious opened my door and poked his head inside. “You page me on the intercom, boss? I already told you, man, I'm going to have to pass on that lean shit.”

I motioned to the cops, and when he saw them he brushed his shirt off, then stepped inside but didn't say a word. “Tavious, these police officers came to see you—” I let him know.

Williams interrupted. “We didn't ask you to introduce us,” he said to me. Then he looked hard at Tavious. “Tavious Bell?”

Tavious looked at him, his eyes a bit wider now; then he looked over at Gus, who looked way too uncomfortable standing in one spot. “Yeah, that's me. What's this about?”

“You tell me,” Gus pushed.

I was about tired of this guy. “Look, if you want to see him, there he is. Stop with the bullshit.”

“What's going on, West?” Tavious wondered.

“I'm Detective Williams, APD.”

“Okay . . .” Tavious listened.

“Do you know Amara Sullivan?”

“Uh, no, no . . . Yeah, I know her . . . Why?”

“Just a question,” Williams said.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Gus was matter-of-fact.

“Uh, I don't know, it's been awhile . . . I just did a twenty-year bid.”

I had to interrupt because Tavious was beginning to sweat and I didn't like the way he began to squirm and show his uneasiness. “Look, why are you guys here?”

“Because we are,” Gus said.

“What's your job here?” Williams wanted to know.

“I'm a mechanic.”

Gus prodded, “A mechanic?” Then he chuckled.

“No, he's my lean manager, for my shop,” I injected.

“Lean manager?” Williams asked.

“Don't worry about it. I got a feeling you wouldn't understand,” I told him.

“You know Amara's dead right?” Gus shot off with quickness, trying to catch a reaction.

Tavious looked at me, and the detectives were following his every move. “No, no, I didn't know that.”

“Now you do,” Williams said. Then he tapped Gus on the shoulder and pointed to the door, but before they walked out Williams turned. “Who's your parole officer, Bell?”

Tavious told him his parole officer's name, then let the officer know he was finished with his probation and was a free man. The cops walked out without another word.

I motioned to Tavious not to say a word until I followed the cops with my eyes through my window until they were off the lot. “Okay, they're gone,” I verified.

Tavious was already sitting in a chair across from my desk. I waited for him to say something but he didn't. “Hey, man, you all right?”

Tavious was clearly shaken and looked as though he was in pain. I sat down in my chair and took a long, deep breath the way Lauren begs me to do throughout my day, then reached down, opened my cabinet, and took out a bottle of whiskey with two glasses. I opened the bottle and poured. Still not a word from Tavious. When I went over to give him his glass, I had to put it in his hand. I was already on my second glass when he finally took a sip and spoke.

“What the fuck am I drinking?” he said.

“Whiskey. It will bring you back,” I told him.

He looked at his glass. “Whiskey?”

“What's wrong, you never had it?”

“West, I got locked up before I was twenty.” He took a sip and dealt with the burn. “And got-damn it, it looks like they're going to put me right back in there.” Tavious took his glass all the way back and I walked over and filled him up again.

I sat back down at my desk. “Well it's evident they have found her body and know you two were in contact.”

“But how?” Tavious exploded.

“A letter, her phone bill, anything could have triggered that. The technology they have these days will make your head spin, man; you have to be careful.”

A few minutes had passed and Tavious was now slouched down in his chair, holding the glass, looking up at the ceiling. “All they have to do is think I did it, West. That's all they have to do and I won't have a chance. Plus, I'm an ex-con. Shit, they'll probably put a charge on me then have me on death row like they did Troy Davis. I haven't even been out six months and I have a case on me already. How'd they even find out she was dead?”

I didn't know what to say to Tavious. The way the cops were eyeballing him there was no way in hell I was going to tell him they weren't interested in him concerning the murder, and Tavious picked up on my silence.

He sat up in his chair and pointed at me with his glass. “Look at you, you're even lost for words. I'm an easy collar, man. Fresh out of prison, evidence of contact with Amara . . . Hell they don't need nothing else to make up a story and tell twelve fuckin' jurors that I killed her, and it would be their word against mine.” He paused. “Have you ever heard a man cry because he lost his freedom, West?”

I took a sip of my drink while looking at Tavious over the top of my glass, and shook my head no.

“It's the worst sound in the world, man. Hearing a man cry who is locked up and can't do a thing about it but cry is a terrible thing, man; nobody should have to listen to that type of bellow.”

All of a sudden Tavious was silent and he knocked back what was left in his glass. I locked eyes with Tavious and he knew that I knew he was right. They were about to do him. It was only a matter of time before they pulled him in for questioning.

“You have to help me, man, you know I didn't kill her . . . You got to help me.”