Ruthless (34 page)

I let out a nervous laugh. “What, to be a hired killer?” I shake my head, covering my face, then looking back at him. “Ohgod, no. I'm not interested in being on anyone else's payroll except my own. What I'm doing, what I've had to do, is personal. But once this shit is over, I'm done. So tell your
peoples
I said no thanks.”

He smiles. But doesn't say anything. I tell him I need to go to Nana's. That I'm not being chauffeured or going over there with a bodyguard at my side. He gives me a worried look. Tries to advise me against it. But my mind is made up.

He opens his mouth to say something, but is stopped by my ringing cell. I reach for it, glancing at the screen. It's Stax.
I can't. Not now.
I take a deep breath, pressing
IGNORE
.

Jasper's face pops into my head and I get a thought. I want that nigga JT's frozen dick from Booty.
But how? I'm not speaking to the bitch.

Lamar looks at him. “What's on your mind?” I share my thought with him. “Oh, daaaaaayumn. That's some real cold shit.” He laughs. “No pun intended. I know y'all rocked it out in here a couple'a days ago, but you should call her.”

I shake my head. Tell him I have no interest in dealing with her. But that it still doesn't mean I don't want that nigga's dick.

He nods, a sly smile easing over his lips. “There's always more than one way to get what you want. If askin' doesn't work, takin' it always does. Where she got that shit?”

My eyes widen with mischief as I tell him. In her deep freezer, in a freezer Ziploc bag, placed inside a Tupperware bowl with a red lid, under slabs of ribs and family packs of chicken.

You want to keep a secret, learn to keep your mouth shut…

“Umm, Pasha,” Kendra says when she buzzes me through the intercom. “There are detectives here to speak with you.”

Lamar and I look at one another. “What the fuck?” I mouth to him. “Okay, can you send them to my office?”

Lamar stands. “You aiight?”

I nod. “Why wouldn't I be?” I tilt my head. “I've done nothing wrong.”

He grins. “You need me to hang around?” I shake my head. Tell him it isn't necessary. “Aiight. I'm going to make sure those packages are being handled with care. I'll be back in an hour or so.”

He opens the door as the two detectives approach. I grab a handful of tissue from a box on the desk, gesturing them in while summoning up another flood of tears from somewhere deep.

“Mrs. Tyler?” a deep voice belonging to a short, robust white man with a receding hairline says. I nod, dabbing the corner of my eyes with tissue as Lamar shuts the door behind him. I glance at the wet stain in the center of his navy blue tie. “I'm Detective Wertzul.” I blink up at him as he smoothly flashes his badge. “And this is Detective Howardson,” he adds, gesturing with his hand to a tall, light-skinned man sporting a navy blue suit, white dress shirt and blue pinstriped tie. I take in his smoothly shaven bald head and neatly trimmed goatee wrapped around big, juicy red
lips, then down at his long loafer-clad feet, before finally locking on to his gaze.

“Yes,” I say with a disarming smile. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

Detective Wertzul clears his throat. “We'd like to talk to you about the murder of Felecia Allen. As you are aware, her head was found decapitated early this morning.”

I tilt my head. “Okay. What does that have to do with me?”

“Mind if we have seat?” Detective Wertzul asks while his partner eyes me all crazy like. Whether part intimidation or part pissed with the world, it's not going to work. Not on me. If this skinny nigga was looking to shake me or get me to loosen my lips with his eyeballing, he had better try again.

I glance at my watch. “I have somewhere to be, so you'll need to make this quick,” I say, ignoring the question. “Now what's this about?”

“Mrs. Tyler,” the skinny, eyeballing fucker interjects, pulling out a notepad and pen. “When's the last time you spoke to the victim, Miss Allen?”

“Like three weeks ago.” I keep my eyes locked on his penetrating gaze.
Nigga, you aren't about to work me!
“Why?”

“Do you mind telling us what the two of you talked about?” Skinny Fuck wants to know. I tell him the phone call was brief. That she called wanting to meet with me. That the plan was for her to come here that Sunday evening at nine.

“And did she ever make it here?” Detective Wertzul asks. I tell him. Tell him I waited around until after ten on her to show up. That I called her leaving a scathing message on her cell for being inconsiderate when she hadn't called to say she wasn't going to be here. I am tempted to offer to allow them to review the tapes on
that day, but decide against it.
Fuck 'em. They don't have shit on me, so let them have their little goose chase.

Skinny Fuck stares into me, then says, “We're aware that you and the victim worked together…”

“No, she
worked
for me. And before you ask, I fired her because she was bad-mouthing me to clients behind my back.” Then he has the audacity to ask if I fired her before or after I learned she was having
an affair
with Jasper. I laugh. “If that's what you want to call it. She was sucking his dick and swallowing his nut while he was incarcerated and smiling in my face.”

The Skinny Fuck shifts his weight on his feet, looking over at his partner, then snidely says, “The ultimate treachery.”

A hand goes up on my hip. “And the perfect recipe for murder,” I say sarcastically,
“if
I gave a damn about her
fucking
my soon-to-be ex-husband. Now, unless I'm a suspect in your little investigation, I think it's time the two of you get the hell out of my office.” My lips quiver. “How dare you”—I point a finger at the both of them—“come up in here and insinuate or interrogate me as if I had something to do with what happened to my cousin. She was like a sister to me.”

On cue, I choke back a sob.

“We've had our disagreements and, yes, we've fought over the years. And,
yes
, that bitch hurt me, okay? It's no secret. I slapped her face and told her to get the fuck out of my salon. And I would have beaten her ass if I felt it necessary. But it wasn't. I fired her instead.”

“Mrs. Tyler,” Detective Wertzul quickly says apologetically, “we didn't mean to upset you. We're only doing our job, trying to cover all of our bases, and look into every lead possible, so that we can find whomever is responsible for the victim's murder.”

I allow tears to fall unchecked. “Then how about you
follow
the yellow-brick road and let it
lead
you to her fiancé, Andre. It wasn't the first time she cheated on him.”

I blow my nose, then grab more tissue and wipe my face. They both look at each other, then at me. Skinny Fuck keeps staring at me. “Your husband went to prison for drug dealing, isn't that right?”

I blink. My temper kicks up a notch. “What does that have to do with what the fuck happened to my cousin having her head chopped off?”

“It's just ironic that
your
cousin's decapitated head with the words
cheating whore
carved into her forehead winds up perched up on a stake on the lawn of
your
husband's grandmother's home.”

I shrug. “Must be coincidence. Like I said,
detectives
, let the road lead you to her fiancé.” I walk toward the door, swinging it open. “Now if you gentlemen don't mind, I'll see the two of you out.”

Detective Wertzul makes a feeble attempt to smooth things over. “We appreciate your time. And, again, I apologize for any undue stress our visit might have caused you.”

“Well, it's caused me a great deal of stress. I have a husband who I have a restraining order against, but refuses to sign divorce papers. Then last week, three of my guards were murdered on my property, then less than twenty-four hours later, I lose almost everything I owned, including my home, to an electrical fire.” I start sobbing. “And n-n-now…a week later, my cousin is dead. And her head is cut off. And you insensitive bastards come up in here grilling
me,
like I'm guilty of something.”

Now all of sudden Mr. Skinny Fuck wants to change up. “Mrs. Tyler, forgive me. I apologize if I've offended you in any way. I'm sure this is a very difficult time for you and your family. We'll see ourselves out.” He extends his hand. I give him a dirty look, dismissing it. “Okay, then. We'll be in touch.”

I ignore him, dabbing at my eyes as we walk out into the salon area. I'm relieved it isn't packed in here today. And given the circumstances, I'd cancelled all of my clients earlier. There are only six clients under the dryers and three clients in stylists' chairs. Up in the mani-pedi loft I spot four women sitting in massage chairs getting pedicures.

I walk the two plainclothes detectives up to the front, walking around the counter. Detective Wetzul reaches into his suit jacket pulling out a business card. “Here's my card if you hear anything.” He lays it on the counter. I eye his partner. His hand is on the doorknob, but he's facing me, staring.

I spot Lamar as he pulls up in front of the salon. Mr. Skinny Fuck turns the knob and pulls open the door, glances at me once last time, then steps out. I eye him as he stands in front of the salon's window. Lamar steps out of his truck and two black Yukons with tinted windows roll by as he heads up toward the door.

It all flashes in front of my eyes in slow motion. Then everything stops. The snapshots in my head become freeze-framed. It's happening. Unfolding right before my eyes. I see Lamar suddenly spin around, reaching for his weapon, but he isn't fast enough. He drops. Before I can open my mouth, bullets are flying out of the front and back windows of both SUVs.

I see the bullets coming. Aimed at Lamar. Aimed at the salon's window. None are meant for Mr. Skinny Fuck with the shitty attitude in the cheap suit. Everything speeds up as I quickly scramble from around the counter, chest pounding, dropping to the floor as glass explodes everywhere into tiny pieces. Mr. Skinny Fuck's entire head is burst off his shoulders, his brain and skull now bloody fragments among shards of bulletproof glass that isn't so bulletproofed for an AK-47.

All I hear are my screams echoing around in my head as Mel
throws himself on top of me, before rolling over and scooping me up into his arms. It is then that my heart sinks. And the only thing I am thinking—as the lone white detective scrambles outside with his weapon drawn while yelling for everyone inside the salon to stay back—is,
“Ohgod, please don't let Lamar be dead!”

Settling scores doesn't always end in death…

F
ive days later, with Legend's tortured body being found, Felecia's decapitated head spiked up on Jasper's grandmother's lawn, and Vernon being found late Tuesday night in Weequahic Park blindfolded, naked, and gagged with a locked anal plug in his ass filled with Gorilla glue—all within the same week of each other, the newspapers and newscasters have been having a field day speculating a possible connection between the trio while investigators desperately continue to search for leads.

So far, there are none.

And Mr. Vernon Lewis aka MydickneedsUrtongue2—who is laid up in a hospital bed after needing emergency surgery and the only breathing victim—is keeping his cum-glazed lips sealed about what truly happened to him during the two days he was MIA in fear of the photos and video of him having six niggas nutting in his mouth and face from being leaked.

So word is he's told police and everyone else who's asked about his ordeal that he stayed blindfolded and never saw who buttonholed him. All lies, of course. But, as long as that's his story and he's sticking with it, he doesn't ever have to worry about having his dick sliced off or being outed as the down-low nigga that he really is.

“Pasha, I'm so so sorry to hear about what happened to Felecia.”
I blink out of my thoughts and up into the face of Shuwanda. “I
know
how close the two of you once were. It's a shame how you turned your back on her.”

I stand up, giving her a tight smile, sweeping my bang over my forehead. I remove my shades and glance around the church. “No, bitch,” I hiss in her ear, looking to see who's within earshot. “What you
know
is, how messy she was. And what's a shame is your ugly face and pathetic existence. Now get the fuck out of my face. Before I tear your ass up in here.”

Her eyes snap open wide, shocked. But before she can open her mouth to say something sideways, she is being gently ushered out of the church by my cousin Penny's twenty-one-year-old son who's tall, solid and built like a linebacker.

How dare that two-faced bitch come over to me!

“You good, cuz?” one of his other brothers asks walking over to me. I nod. He wraps his arm around me. “When you comin' out to Arizona, so I can show you off to all my boys?”

I tell him when all of his boys are no longer in college or living at home with their parents. He grins, teasing me about probably not being able to handle a young stud. I shake my head, waving him on. His two older brothers, ages twenty-six and twenty-eight, come up and give me a hug and a kiss before dragging him off to go sit in the back of the church—where I'd rather be.

I glance at my timepiece, sighing. I want this day over with. Sitting here, in this church, forced to look at the closed mahogany casket that contains Felecia's tooth-and-tongue-less head, while listening to Nana wail one minute, then sing praises of how wonderful her darling
gran'baby
was, is making my insides turn.