“It’s the worst,” added Ross. “Eeeww, here you go. You look like you need this,” she said passing him a tissue.
“Thanks,” he said as he wiped his nose and hands.
“You’re welcome. You coming down with something?”
“I hope not.”
“Me too. Look, if you make me sick, you owe me big. You keep your germs over there, pal. Damn, I’m so hungry.”
“Pat’s?” asked Delgado, not really wanting to eat, but able.
“My diet?”
“You still on that?” Delgado asked, looking at Merva and wondering how long she’d be on this infamous diet, which appeared
to have her gaining weight instead of losing it.
“Hey, Detective Delgado, the shoes and the prints out back look like a match. This guy and this guy were in the backyard and
it looks like they climbed this tree, came through the window, and then something happened.”
“This guy has clean feet,” Delgado pointed out.
“And?” Ross asked.
“That’s dead guy number one. Dead guy number one has clean feet,” replied Detective Honing.
“It means dead guy number one wasn’t in the backyard and probably didn’t climb the tree, and if these guys came in here, dead
guy number one probably killed dead guy two and dead guy three, right here,” replied Delgado, pointing at Jeremy Tyler.
“What if there was another shooter who killed all three of these guys, and he’s still out there?” asked Ross, bursting Delgado’s
theory bubble.
“Yeah, maybe,” said Delgado, as he began to think to himself.
“Did we scan for prints?” Ross asked.
“Yes, ma’am, we’ve got a lot of prints in here, a lot. But, we’ll know a lot after forensics verifies a few things,” answered
Detective Honing.
“Wow, what a fucking mess,” said Delgado as he looked at Poncho. “You know what I want to know? I really want to know what
happened here, my friend, and if you could tell me, you would really make my job easier. Have you called the coroner yet?”
“No, sir, not yet, we’re not done with them. Maybe another two hours, tops,” replied Honing.
“I want the ballistics on the bullets. And find me a witness. Somebody around here knows something. See if you can figure
out who and get them to talk, and I mean talk to everybody in this godforsaken rat hole. Check with everyone on this floor,
the floor above, and the floor below. Ask around the block. Someone heard something and I know someone had to see something.”
“Yes, sir, on it, sir,” said the officer who had led Delgado to the window.
“You got me wanting a chicken cheese steak, real bad,” said Ross.
“I told you, come on, let’s go to Pat’s. We’ll see you guys back at headquarters. Come on,” Delgado said to his partner.
“Excuse me,” said Ross as she stepped over Jeremy, tagged body number three.
“You step over me every day and you don’t say excuse me,” said Detective Delgado jokingly.
“Stop crying and come on. It’s your turn to treat.”
Daisy Mae Fothergill stood at the end of the bar waiting for her pickup tray.
“Come on, Dallas, what you doing, man. I need my drinks so I can get up on outta here.”
“Hey, Daisy, hold your tail feathers, you see me working,” said Dallas as he laughed at her. “Go lay some eggs and shit and
your tray will be ready when you done.”
“I’m done laying eggs today and don’t worry about what I need to do. You just worry about my tray. How’s that?”
“Here, get on out of here, pussycat,” said Dallas as he placed the remaining two drinks on the carrying tray for her.
“ ’Bout time,” she said lifting the tray over her shoulder and carrying it to her waiting table. That was Dallas’s nickname
for her; he always called her pussycat. And no, not what you’re thinking, but because of her eyes, which were a crazy shade
of green, and when her pupils were dilated, her eyes did resemble those of a cat.
“Daisy Mae, girl, you sure look good,” said Felix, one of her regulars, as he slid his hand down the side of her bare back
and squeezed her exposed butt cheek before letting her go.
“Mmm hmm, you always say the sweetest things,” she said, being ever so polite. Felix was too cheap for her to patronize. He
didn’t want to tip, he didn’t want to pay, but he wanted Daisy to stroke him as if he was king of the land or a czar on a
throne.
“Naw, Daisy, I’m saying, you really looking good tonight. Whadda you say, we go on in the back to one of them champagne rooms?”
“I’d say let’s go, but you ain’t got no money for no champagne. So, I guess I’ll be going on home now,” she said as she tried
to walk away from the table.
“Daisy, naw, come here, girl, I’m trying to talk to you,” he said, pulling her arm back and trying to rub her butt again.
He was really the worst, literally. Daisy could tolerate some, but Felix made her skin crawl. He was a tiny man, short, balding,
and had the worst breath and was always blowing his Newport cigarette smoke at her private area and licking his tongue at
her.
Yuck!
“No, you don’t need to talk to me, you need to talk to Calvin, honey. Ain’t nothing I can do for you, and it’s time for me
to go.”
Just then, Felix’s buddy pulled out a wad of cash and flashed it at Daisy.
“See, I told you, baby, you know I’m gonna take care of you,” said Felix as he nodded to his friend and pulled Daisy even
closer. She fell into his lap.
“Hey, Calvin, Calvin,” she called out as Felix groped her body, feeling up her naked breasts and trying to get his hand between
her thighs. Calvin turned around and made his way over to the table they were at.
“What’s the problem over here?”
“We want a private room, with Daisy,” said Felix, nodding to his friend, who quickly flashed his wad of cash at Calvin.
“Well, Daisy, come on, take care of these guys. What y’all sitting over here for.” Calvin quickly got the table on its feet.
“Let me get y’all a room, and you know our rooms come with a bottle of our finest champagne,” said Calvin, patting the stranger
on his back.
He’s so full of shit,
thought Daisy.
Ain’t no Mumms no real champagne. He’s crazy.
Calvin led them through a doorway and into a private champagne room. It had mirrors on the walls and ceilings, huge oversized
red sofas, and black two-seater lounge chairs, a few end tables and a dancing pole in the middle of the floor. “And Daisy
here, she’s gonna give you your money’s worth. You don’t have to worry about that. Do they, Daisy?”
“No, Calvin, they ain’t got nothing to worry about.”
Calvin moved to the side as Daisy watched the stranger pay him for her adult-rated services. He turned and headed to the door,
looked at her with his “you better do what you do, dammit” look on his face, and then closed the door behind him leaving her
alone in the room with Felix and the stranger. Felix looked at her as he began to massage himself and then opened his mouth,
stuck out his tongue, and wiggled it at her.
Lord, give me strength.
Two hours later, tired, hungry, feet all sore from walking around in four-inch stilettos, Daisy stood at the bus stop waiting
for the number-two bus.
There has to be something better out here for me than this. I know there has to be. Please god send me a good man, someone
to take care of me and love me. Please, I can’t do this life much more.
Daisy could daydream until the cows came home, but at the end of the day, there wasn’t nothing better out there for her and
there wouldn’t be nothing better either. She was only twenty-two years old, and her life had been hard, real hard. Nothing
had ever been given to her and everything she got, she either took it or used her body to get it. Thank god she had that;
a perfect body, a perfect frame. Other than that, she didn’t have much. Just a two-bedroom apartment she shared with her ailing
mother and a no-good boyfriend. Well, actually, he wasn’t even a boyfriend, just some guy she had started seeing. Breaking
her thoughts, her pager went off. It was him, her new guy, Sticks.
Ooh, I wonder if he’s around, maybe he can give me a ride home so I don’t have to take the bus.
She went over to a phone booth and called his car phone.
“Hello,” said Daisy.
“Yo, Dais, what the fuck, man, I been calling you all day.”
“Hey, Sticks, I’m just getting off work. I didn’t even check my pager.” She started looking through her pages.
Damn, he’s been paging me since yesterday morning.
“Man, I’m at the Honey Dipper looking for you. Where you at?”
“I’m around the corner, at the bus stop.”
“Okay, stay there. I need to see you, man, right now.”
Yes, no long, drawn-out bus ride tonight. And Sticks is coming with his fine ass, this is just perfect.
She couldn’t help thinking about the possibilities of the evening. She was just happy she had a ride home. And a ride from
one of the city’s most notorious and infamously ghetto fabulous street ballers, couldn’t get no better than that. Sticks was
every young girl’s daydream. He was light-skinned, handsome, and muscular, with a nice grade of hair, not too curly, but definitely
not nappy. He was one of them brothers a girl would get pregnant by just in hopes of having a baby with good hair. Sticks
had a reputation for being a liar and a cheat with the ladies, but he also had a reputation for putting in work. Whatever
had to be done, he’d do it, with no hesitation. The dudes that knew him and knew his résumé stayed clear of him, and only
a stranger would be stupid enough to try Sticks and think he’d get away with it.
Sticks quickly put his 150E Class in drive and made his way to the bus stop where Daisy was. He opened the passenger-side
door from inside the car and waited for her to get in.
“I sure am glad to see you. You just don’t know, my feet is killing me.”
Fuck your feet—I got problems,
Sticks thought to himself, and he did; big, big, problems.
“You gonna rub them for me?”
Is this bitch serious?
he thought to himself, looking at her, pretending to wear a smile. But he dare not say it. “Of course, baby, of course. You
know I got you, Dais. Anything you need, you just let me know.”
Really, I ain’t heard no nigga talk like him in all my life. Anything I need, just let him know.
“Well, right now, all I need is a hot bath, something to eat, and my feet rubbed down.”
“Baby, come on, I’m gonna get you something to eat and we going to the Inn of the Dove and you can take a hot bath in one
of them Jacuzzis and I’ll rub on your feet.”
“For real, you gonna do all that?”
“Yup, but I need you to do something for me,” he said as he thought of the unfortunate situation he had somehow managed to
get himself into, all because of Nard’s dumb ass.
He should’ve let them motherfuckers have the fucking coke, what the fuck? Simon Shuller could count that shit up as a loss.
And he really felt that serious about it. Truth was, he was supposed to be there that night looking out. Had he been there,
on his job, Jeremy and Lance would never have made it through the bathroom window, Poncho wouldn’t be dead, and Nard wouldn’t
need no alibi. And Simon Shuller wouldn’t be telling him to fix the problem or else.
“So, what you need me to do.”
“Well, it’s like this, my man, he done got caught up in a little situation, you feel me. And right now, we got to help him
out.”
“Help him out, how?”
“Well, he needs someone to say that he was with them, that you saw him at the bar and he was in there with you. I just need
you to tell an investigator for me that he was at the bar in the Honey Dipper and you remember him there all night. I’ll pay
you one thousand dollars if you can do that for me.”
“One thousand dollars?” Daisy screeched.
“Make it two,” said Sticks.
“Two thousand dollars? That’s a lot of money, Sticks.”
“Yeah, I know, I really need you to do that for me, though.”
Not seeing the forest for the trees, Daisy agreed. She needed the money, bad. Two thousand dollars—she barely made that in
a month working for Calvin at the Honey Dipper. All that dancing and everything else she had to do, you would think she was
making good money. But she wasn’t. Calvin was too greedy and too narcissistic. He thought he was the main man on top of the
pimp and ho game. And truth be told, he was. He had them girls right where he wanted them, bent over. The funny thing was,
he never touched the girls that worked in the club. He’d sometimes call them into his office individually and look them over
as they stood naked in front of him. Everybody had to pass his “better be sweet” smell test. If he fingered you and you wasn’t
smelling right, he’d send you over to Dr. Nelson’s office. But, no, no, no, he never touched them with his penis. Well, actually,
every now and then he might be in the spirit of desiring sexual pleasure, but for the most part, his penis was a little too
good for a whore to even suck on. Seriously, to him, his penis was special, so special that he wasn’t passing his wiener around.
And when he thought about it, he didn’t understand how men slept around with a bunch of women. No, that just wasn’t his style
and yes, he was a pimp or at least he thought so. No, in his crazy mind, his job was to merely sit back and watch his girls
get fucked and then fuck them out their money; that was Calvin Stringer.
The next morning, after a night of sexual bliss, Sticks and Daisy left the Inn of the Dove. Sticks promised her that the investigator
would be calling her that day, and after she spoke to him, she’d be two thousand dollars richer. Daisy couldn’t wait. She
had plans, big plans for that extra two grand.
“Momma, come on, I need you to put on one of your overcoats,” said Daisy as she rushed around the apartment trying to make
it spiffy.
“What I want an overcoat for?”
“Because, Momma, I got this investigator man coming here and I don’t want your titties hanging all out, come on. I need you
to put something on.”
“You don’t need to worry about my titties hanging nowhere. You need to worry about yours. And an investigator; what you got
an investigator coming in here for?”