Wrong Chance (27 page)

Aspen pulled out a cigarette and lit up. “You through venting?”

Hakeem took her lighter. “Let's see you light another one.”

“You know what your problem is? You gave up. For the last seven months I sat and watched you—by force, not choice—sink into depression and insomnia while you claim everything is okay. It's not! What happened was terrible. But that grudge and the hate you're carrying in your heart is turning you into an ugly, despicable man that I don't like. And if you don't get it together, that hate is gonna cost somebody their life if your theory is correct.” She drew on the Newport. “The fact that God threw Jazz Smith in this twisted mix is to give you the perfect opportunity to be the best person you and I know you are capable of being. It isn't validation for you to justify abandoning your life, your friends, and your morals to become a complete asshole.”

A
fter Hakeem learned from the chief's wife that he was working late, Hakeem stormed into Dwight Eisenhower's office unannounced. Hakeem knew the shit was about to hit the fan, but that concerned him not. A face-to-face confrontation was what he craved. Sergeant Morris, tired and stressed out, and Chief Eisenhower glared at Hakeem as if he were a rabid dog foaming at the mouth.

“Goddammit, Eubanks,” Chief Eisenhower said, nostrils flaring like an angry bull, “where's your goddamn manners?” He jabbed a finger in Hakeem's direction. “Knock next goddamn time.” He sipped his glass of brandy.

“I want off the Hieroglyphic Hacker case.” Hakeem aimed his loaded gaze on his superiors like a throwaway semiautomatic. “Reassign me.”

“You've lost your goddamn mind, Eubanks.”

“Good to know we finally see eye to eye about something.”

Concern plagued Sergeant Morris' face, and it was apparent in his voice. “Why do you want off the case?”

“Jazz Smith, that's why.” He tossed the picture in front of them. “I have reason to believe she's on the unsub's revenge list. Aspen will fill you in. I want out.”

The room fell silent as the men absorbed Hakeem's revelation and pain.

“First of all, this isn't goddamn Burger King. You can't have it your goddamn way. I'm running a goddamn police department here.” Eisenhower polished off his brandy. “If you have evidence or even a goddamn suspicion that Ms. Smith is in danger, it's your job to remove the threat of danger, Eubanks. The mayor hand-selected you because you're good at what you do. Now get over your hang-ups and get the hell out of my goddamn office and don't come back until you find your fancy manners.”

“I don't care about this job if its value is measured against Jazz Smith. Far as I'm concerned, she should have been first on the Hacker's list, then maybe my—”

“Watch yourself, Eubanks, before you go too far,” Sergeant Morris said. “I have empathy for how I imagine you must feel about these developments, but you're on the border line of insubordination and that won't be tolerated.”

“Suspend me then, you little cowardly son of a bitch.” Hakeem hated himself for saying that, but he'd lived with much worse clinging to his soul, which made it too easy to shrug off Sergeant Morris' hurt feelings and scuffed ego.

Eisenhower jumped to his feet and rounded the desk. “Nice goddamn try, Eubanks.” He stood between Hakeem and Sergeant Morris. “We're not suspending you either. You're stuck with this until you and Skye close the book on this case. Now for the last goddamn time, get out my office and go do your job.” Chief Eisenhower opened the door. “Do I make myself goddamn clear?”

Hakeem shoved his shield and gun in Eisenhower's chest. “I quit. Find someone else to help the famous author. Is that clear enough for you?” He turned to leave and Aspen was leaning against the door frame, shaking her head with disappointment.

L
akeshore Boulevard curved and twisted toward Lake Erie. Hakeem turned the Hummer onto Spring Bank Lane and nudged it into his driveway. He'd sworn months ago that he would go to his grave hating Jazz Smith and her stupid books. Just the fact that she was a big-shot author pissed him off and deepened his ill will toward her. She didn't deserve invites to late-night talk shows, books adapted to movies and translated to many foreign languages, or her inflated personage that transcended national boundaries. Not after what she'd done.

Hakeem tried to avoid the panoramic scene in his rearview mirror. Impossible. It called to him like a living thing with a nasty attitude. Its ominous presence lingered and lurked in the recesses of his mind when the rest of Cleveland was sound asleep. Now his eyes sucked in the painful details: tall and skinny, metal and gray, crippled and ugly. He turned away from the rearview, eased out of the driver's seat, and went inside the house without a backward glance.

Keebler rushed him at the door, throwing her huge paws on his shoulders.

“Thought you were at—”

“Didn't want to babysit her in my big house alone anymore,” Drew said, coming into the kitchen. “I got bored.” She wore a see-through lingerie number and wasn't the least bit ashamed about her exposed flesh.

“When I gave you access to my spare key, I wasn't expecting to come home and find you running around my house half naked.”

“You told me you wouldn't be here, so I just made myself comfortable. But now that you're here, do you like what you see?” She modeled her risqué outfit.

“Is that a pimple on your booty?” Hakeem laughed to keep from breaking down in tears. Lust was in his voice, but he tried to joke it away.

Drew fought to hide her smile. “Boy, you wish. Not a blemish, Mr. Comedy Central.” She closed the distance between them, keeping her eyes nailed to him.

Hakeem couldn't shake her stare; his eyes were firmly entrenched in hers. “Put some clothes on, Drew, before I bend you over this table and give you what you're looking for.” He loosened his tie, anticipating the possibilities of a beautiful, undressed woman in his house.

“Then I just ended my search.” She pushed the table fixtures aside, clearing a space for them on the island. “Right here?” She bent over the table. “Like this?”

He was drawn to her hairless petals. “You don't give up.” He turned to Keebler, patting her head. “Get me a beer, girl.”

Keebler pulled the refrigerator open by a dish towel tied to the handle. Lined across the bottom sleeve of the door were bottles of imported beer. Keebler brought Hakeem a cold one.

“Close it back, girl,” he said as he rinsed the bottle off and cracked it open. He sipped the beer and watched Drew climb on the table and open her legs. Again, he was drawn to the split of her petals. A place he hadn't been since—

“What are you waiting on?” she said. “The table was your idea. I'm game.”

Hakeem said nothing. He was too busy admiring her beautiful
body. He still had ripe memories of it from the first time she offered it to him. He chugged down the beer and decided to expand his memory to knowledge. Passing up the feel and gratification of her offering wasn't going to happen a second time.

“Stop imagining, Hakeem. Experience it.” She held out her small wrists for him, submitting. “Cuff me and fuck me. I need you inside me just as bad as you want to be.”

He took his suit jacket off. “We're about to make a mistake.”

“At least we'll have fun doing it and there won't be any strings attached after we both come,” she said, rubbing her clitoris through the see-through fabric of her panties.

“There are always strings attached.” He tossed his shirt on the counter, then went to put the bottle in the recycling bin. That was when he saw what she had done. His family's pictures were back on the living room walls. Thoughts of sex left and anger returned with a vengeance. “What the hell did you do to my house? You had no right to violate my personal space like this.”

Her legs snapped shut. “What are you talking about?”

He stared into the living room for the first time in months. “You don't know me or what I'm going through. And you can't fix me with a piece of pussy. You had no right to come into my home and put those pictures on the wall.”

“I'm sorry, Hakeem. I only called myself helping you clean up. Showing you that I'm a good woman to have around. I thought you took them down to dust or paint the walls or something.”

“That's the problem—you thought wrong.”

Aspen walked through the kitchen door. Drew jumped off the table and hid behind Hakeem to cover herself.

Hakeem followed Aspen's eyes to the hard-on that strained against his slacks.

“No need, sister. I'm leaving,” Aspen said. “Get back on the table
and assume the position. I'll be out your way in one sec.
I'm
disturbing
your
groove.” She fixed Hakeem with an anticlimactic gaze. “You should have just told me you had a woman. No wonder we don't play chess anymore.”

Hakeem recognized the demeanor shift. Right now a slow burn was creeping up the back of Aspen's neck and scorching her attitude. “It's not what you think. She—”

“I would tell you to kiss my natural black ass, Hakeem, but from the looks of it, you have enough ass to kiss tonight.” Aspen walked out the door as easy as she walked through it. Her fragrance wafted through the air and tugged at his heart strings.

“Son of a bitch.” Then: “Aspen, wait a minute. Let me explain.” He—bare-chested—went out the door behind her. “Would you please hold up a minute.”

“Fuck you, Hakeem.” She hit a number on her phone that started her car. “Fuck you.”

“I'm confused. Why are you mad about her?”

Aspen laughed, shaking her head. “You know what? I'm not. I couldn't care less.” She climbed inside the BMW. “You no longer owe me an explanation about a damn thing. You're obviously not the person I thought you were to me. And you're not my partner anymore. You quit, remember?” She backed out the driveway and yelled out the window, “Fuck you, Hakeem.” She slid him a look that chilled him to glacial proportions.

When Hakeem went back in the house, he abandoned all pretenses of manners and said, “Get out!”

“Hakeem, I—”

Keebler stood on all fours and growled, showing Drew her teeth.

“Are you getting the point?” He held the door open.

H
er expensive heels clicked against the marble floor to the melody of her sway. On the far end of the hall, under the surveillance cameras, the night janitor worked a mop in an easy side-to-side pattern. He bobbed his head and sang to the lyrics of “Ready for the World.”

When he noticed her, he turned down his MP3 player and waved. “Burning the midnight oil, Ms. Davenport,” he said loud enough for her to hear.

She adjusted the Chanel bag on her shoulder and waved back with the enthusiasm of someone who wasn't in the mood to be bothered. She hurried through the office door before he tried his luck at conversation again. Once inside the office, she secured the door with her gloved hands.

She unstrapped the dolly from the Pepsi machine and opened it. Leon was stuffed inside, sedated, but on the brink of consciousness. She put an ammonia capsule under Leon's nose and his eyes blinked open with a startle.

“Cash, what…what happened to me?” Leon said.

“Take a closer look, dude.”

That voice stole Leon's attention. “Chance?” Leon said like he was blown away by how well Chance could make himself up to look like Cash.

“You got it, shithead.” Chance pulled him out of the machine. “And I'm really pissed about you destroying my chance to have a family. That means I'm gonna make it hurt.” He dragged Leon from the outer office into Scenario's office. He left Leon on the floor as he cleared the desktop. “You've been a terrible friend.”

“You…you murdered Yancee and Anderson.”

“Don't worry, buddy. I swear I won't leave you out. Scout's honor.” Chance admired the night lights of Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame as he removed the murder kit from the Chanel bag and prepared the syringe. “You fucking moron. Is that the type of joke you play on your blood brother?”

“We were—”

“You
were. They were just too weak to tell you no, which made them just as guilty.” Chance put his face inches away from Leon's. “Law 19: Know Who You're Dealing With—Do Not Offend The Wrong Person. I'm the wrong Chance.”

“Please, man, I'm sorry.”

“Come on, dude, be original. That's what all the others said when I was minutes away from punishing them. You watched the news; it didn't work. Neither did the
Oh, God
cliché.” Chance thumped the air bubbles out of the syringe. “So you're not gonna scream, tough guy?”

“Please forgive—”

“You stole a real wife and children from me. You robbed me of a family. Unforgiveable.” He lugged Leon onto the desktop and injected the blue ring venom into his system. “Family means everything, you idiot. Nothing is more important than family.” He cut the buttons away from Leon's shirt with a scalpel and removed the handcuffs and leg binding.

Leon's arms fell limply to the side. “I…I can't move.”

“Children are a heritage from the Lord, the crown of their father,” Chance said as he stripped Leon naked. “Wives bear children, Leon. God created me in His likeness and image to reward me with the fruit of the womb.” He grabbed Leon's flaccid penis and stretched it to its full length. “But you thought it would be funny to give me a wife without a womb and rob me of my rightful inheritance—a family.”

“Please, Chance, accept my apology. Think about what you're doing.”

“I have, dude.” Chance detached Leon's penis with one clean cut.

Leon screamed.