Chapter 7
Flexing in the mirror, Reggie stood tall and handsome. He looked much older than most kids his age, but he knew it to be because of his height and probably his features, too. Dark eyes and sharp, chiseled jaw, thick neck and big hands, he looked very different from most of his family. His mother was tall but had really light eyes, almost gold colored, and her features were soft and pretty. He didn't have any uncles, so he really didn't know what the Ams men looked like, short of a photo of his grandfatherâthe one he was named after, and that Reginald Ams wasn't all that big. But none of that mattered; Reggie was destined for greatness. He knew this. He was gonna play ballâpro ball. At first he thought it might be a dream, but not since getting that call from the athletic department of University of Oregon. “Inviting me to take a look at their team! Me!” he told his reflection. “How many people get invited personally to a school to look it overâspecifically their athletic departmentâwithout that being an unsaid promise of making the team? How many?” He smiled broadly and again wondered if he maybe looked like his father. It wasn't as if he knew who his father was. His mother had apparently been a wildcat back in the dayâsleeping with men she didn't know.
Go figure.
Considering how uptight she was nowâ
can't imagine it.
But, she was old now, Chance was old nowâJuanita was old now too, despite how she acted. They were all old and fulla farts. And it was time for him to blow this stank joint.
Just then there was a banging on the bathroom door. “God, Reg! I gotta pee fa real!” Rainey bellowed. He yanked open the door. His half sister was fourteen. She normally had a quiet natureâexcept when her bladder was full.
She looked and acted nothing like Junior, nothing like him. Funny, now that he thought about it, as strange as it seemed, he and Junior looked and acted more alike than Rainey did to either of them. It was almost as if she was the stepchild.
“If you were a boy you coulda just peed outside,” Reggie teased, pushing her forehead tauntingly before brushing past her. She swung at him and missed before slamming into the bathroom.
“Gross!” she screamed from inside.
Chapter 8
Ovan left the station house. He'd made his pointâand new enemies. That was fine. He'd rather work with people who didn't like him but respected him and what he was doing, than those who just carried on brainlessly following stupid rules they didn't understand. Lawrence wasn't a brainless followerâOvan could tell. Behind that staunch demeanor was a cop who wanted justice. “And that's just the kind of guy I need on my side,” he said aloud before patting his stomach, realizing his hunger. But he'd had a plenty of exercise today: a little flirting with a female precinct captain, a little dancing with the enemy (he had to view Lawrence that way until something dictated otherwise), and a full day of hunting the devilâAllen Roman. Tomorrow he'd head down another road. He needed something substantial to prove that Allen Roman was truly here in the city, and some stronger leads on him. He'd have to be living somewhere. Surely Roman would not be able to resist a scholarly environment too long. Perverted though it may seem, he could easily be drawn back to his own stomping ground: Moorman. Back to his old obsessions, like Rashawn Ams. The case made it clear Roman had a thing for herâin a big way. Roman never went anywhere without a purpose, and there was a reason he was here in California. “It won't hurt to see if Rashawn Ams has anything to do with his trip here. Craven all but admitted that he was in need of some big time surgical procedureâMaravel should have his medical records by now. After dinner I'll head over there. We'll see what's wrong with him ... besides insanity.” Ovan mumbled.
Stepping off the curb, Ovan noticed a dark sedan parked on the opposite side of the small park. He didn't know why the car drew his attention. It made his skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Dusk was falling and making it harder to see. He stood staring for a moment at the parked car in hopes of focusing on and making out the driverâno luck.
Crossing the street, he took his car keys from his pocket and headed for his car, thinking he'd just drive past the car and get the license number, or perhaps a better look through the eyes of a computer run on the plate. As he started his car, turned on the radio, fooled with the mirror, and primped just a tad, he hadn't noticed that the car had moved from its spot and, was slowly creeping around the park. Looking up, he saw the sedan coming toward him. The driver slowed down and lowered the window as he passed.
“The chase begins,” was all Allen Roman said before speeding off. Stunned, and slightly in shock, Ovan spun a hard U-turn in the middle of the street, screeching his tires. His fancy Porsche with the specialty muffler, flow meter, and standard manifold replaced with custom headers set off car alarms for three blocks, gaining the attention of plenty of on-duty cops who immediately joined in the chase.
“Dammit!” Ovan roared, noticing that Roman didn't gain any attention in his plain car. He turned off the main drag they had been on. Sirens blasted and patrol cars were in chase of Ovan now as he lost the tail. Before he could turn the same corner as Roman, Ovan was cut off by a patrol car. Slamming on his breaks, his belt jerked him roughly back from the steering wheel. “You idiots!” he screeched.
“Get out of the car,” the officer said, drawing his weapon. There was plenty of commotion with the sounds of the car alarms and people coming from their homes to shut them off.
“Why are you stopping me? Did you not see that I was in pursuit?”
“Duh! Put your hands up.”
“I was in pursuit!”
“Of who?” the officer asked, pulling out his tablet.
“The sedan. I know you saw him speeding. I was chasing him.” Ovan was attempting to gesture with one hand up.
“Nope, we didn't see anybody speeding but you.” The officer patted Ovan down. Fortunately, he'd tucked his weapon under his seat earlier that day. He was free from an arrestâat least for the momentâunless they searched his car for some unknown reason.
Reaching for his wallet, Ovan fussed, “Can I at least give you my ID ... Can I do that?” The officer nervously jutted the gun in his face. He handed the officer his ID.
“Is this legal in our country?” the officer asked his partner.
“Of course it is! Can one of you call Detective Lawrence Miller? Can you just do that so we can get on with our evening?”
“Oh, you know Miller? Does he know you?”
“Oh, good Lord!” Ovan sighed heavily.
The officer shrugged and reluctantly walked back to his vehicle while the other, the one holding the gun, stood with Ovan.
After a moment or two, the officer came back, laughing. “Lawrence said we should beat him up and then let him go,” he joked. Both officers got a hearty laugh now. “Nah, he's okay I guess. Miller said he's some big shot FBI agent from England.” The officer holding the gun finally holstered it. “I guess you're one of usâsort of. Sorry, about that.”
“Sorry my arse! Bloody well cost me the entire case. Who knows if I'll see that guy again before he ...” Ovan snatched his wallet back from the officer, cursing bitterly under his breath.
“Look here, you're in America now so you better get a clue how we do things around here. Get get this bucket fixed, or you're gonna be getting stopped often,” the officer explained as Ovan climbed back behind the wheel. Out of spite Ovan sped off, revving the motor and setting of several more car alarms.
After a fruitless endeavor of cruising the streets a bit, Ovan headed back to his hotel. Entering his room, he saw the light on his phone blinking. He rushed over to hear the message. His gut was telling him, before he pushed the button, who the call was from. For the last year, since Roman had discovered that it was Ovan on his tail, he'd made sure he got as close as he could to him. It was as if they had established their own game rules. Ovan had broken many rules, thoughâand planned to break a few more before this was over. “Stay out of my way, Dominguez; this doesn't concern you.” Allen Roman's voice was deep and distorted, as if spoken through a disguising device. He could only assume it was a device that would block the location of the call as well.
Roman was a maniac, but not an idiot. He had a reason for everything he did or said. “If it doesn't concern me then it must be personal to you! Thank you for answering my question about Rashawn Ams,” Ovan laughed. Roman had covered his steps well, and although Ovan knew he was behind the killings of the doctors, he was still hoping to figure out the bigger reasoning behind the illegal experiments on human subjects as well. Because of Allen Roman, one too many lives had been destroyed. Tying those two crimes to Roman would give Ovan's mission some legitimacy. It was the least he could do before killing Roman for his own personal reasons. Ovan needed a bit of a cover-up for his own evil. Finding out why Roman was doing what he was doing was as good as any ... At least, he hoped it would be a good enough reason to justify blowing his brains out. Yes, Ovan had a game plan too. It was all a game, one that was coming to an end. He picked up his phone to call Maravel.
“Ovan, what is it?” she asked, sounding as if she'd been breathlessly awaiting his call.
“Roman. I saw him today.”
“My God.”
“You say that like you're surprised. Like you didn't think I was right.”
“No, Love, I knew you were right. I had just prayed you were wrong.”
“So he is here, just as I thought, and now I think I know why. Get me some information on Rashawn Ams. Also, I hope you got those medical records.”
“Yes, I did. It seems our Dr. Roman is a pretty sick man.”
“How so?”
“Sick enough to be looking for a kidney donor.”
“Interesting ... Well, his brother's dead. Who else?”
“My guess is he has someone in mind.”
Chapter 9
“Remember that Christmas we conceived Junior?” Juanita flirted, hanging tinsel on her tree. She had saved the duty until Chance arrived, bringing Junior home. It wasn't much of a tree anyway, just a little tabletop, but it was something. She started stringing the tinsel as soon as he had walked in. She hoped he'd catch on and give her a handâor more.
“It wasn't Christmas, it was right after Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, you remember,” she said, purring just a little, feeling the heat rising up.
“Yeah, because me and Rashawn made our thing official right
after
that,” Chance remarked, smiling wickedly.
“Why you gonna ruin the moment bringing her up?” Juanita choked. Tossing the tinsel at the tree any ol' kind of way, she realized now how this attempt to involve him wasn't working. He stood by the door with his hands in his pockets. Why did he bother to even come in? He should have just waited in the car. But no, he always came in. It was his house, after all.
“I miss us,” she said before rethinking the statement.
Chance's eyes widened in surprise as he looked in the direction Junior had gone. Sure, he had ear buds in place, but ...
Chance pointed, whispering loudly, “He could have heard you. Are you nuts?”
“Call me crazy. I don't care.” Juanita realized suddenly how good it felt to speak her heart. She'd been off her medication for a while and maybe it was starting to show. She had been on Zoloft for a while nowâit wasn't working, not as far as she could see. But for the first time in months she was feeling more like herself again, so maybe it had been. She giggled at the thought.
Chance went for the doorknob. “I'm leaving, Nita.” Juanita rushed over to stop him, making sure her body made contact. She was wearing his favorite perfume. She always made sure to spritz it on when she thought she might see him.
“I'm sorry, Chance. Don't go. Just stay with me for a minute. I'm sorry,” she begged. She hadn't meant to scare him off. Maybe she had lost her touchâmaybe the meds had messed her all up. Chance shook his head, and in his normal mannerism when nervous, pushed his glasses up higher on his nose with his middle finger.
“Man, there is nothing to eat here,” Junior bellowed from the kitchen. “At least at Dad's there's major grub,” he went on.
“Mother Hubbard's cupboards are bare, son!” she called back.
“You don't have food?” Chance asked, sounding serious.
“I didn't make it to the store,” she answered nonchalantly before noticing the true concern on his face.
“Is that why you wanted Junior to stay with me?”
No, I just didn't make it to the store
, Juanita thought, but didn't say, noting Chance's softness returning in his voice. She nodded slowlyâplaying it, baiting him. Chance sighed heavily.
“Nita, are you paying the bills?”
“Yes, Chance, I'm managing to keep
your
house.” she said, emphasizing the dig. True, it was Chance's house and he had allowed her to live there. Even when she'd married Dennis they lived together in Chance's house. He'd worked hard to buy it, going as far as putting the home in his sister's name. He'd refused to give it up in the divorce or sell it to keep it out of litigation, so he just opted to let her live there.
Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out two twenties before glancing at his watch. “I don't have time to run to the Chinese Palace, so just call in.”
“So you don't have time to eat with us, either, I gather.”
“No, I don't,” he answered.
Chinese food on the floor in front of the fireplace was such a turn-on for Chanceâback in the day. Hell, everything was a turn on for Chance. He would put pieces of orange chicken between her tight breasts and then eat them out. He would pour sweet-and-sour sauce on her belly and dip his spring rolls. He would put sweet-and-sour sauce on his “roll” and she would suck it clean. Oh the fun they would have ...
And they call me a sex addict,
Juanita thought, trying to ignore the heat growing between her legs.
She made sure her hands touched his as she took the money from him. “Junior,” she called loudly without taking her eyes off his.
“Ya!” he called back.
“Come get this money from your father and call CP to get us some grub,” she said, grinning and putting on her most grateful face. “Make sure you order me some spring rolls with extra sauce.”
“Oh, CP! Thanks, Pop,” Junior said, snatching the money and rushing to the cordless that sat on the sofa. Juanita leaned up again, polluting him with her scent, kissing him lightly on the cheek, allowing her lips to maintain contact with his skin as she moved closer to his lips.
“Hey, while you're being generous and loving, I need a BlackBerry like Reg.” Junior called out.
“Forget about it,” Chance said, pulling back from Nita quickly, as if the spell had been suddenly broken by the sound of Junior's voice. Speaking over Nita's head, Chance added, “Gotta go,” and quickly backed out through the door.
“Damn.” Juanita groaned slightly.
“Aw, missed again,” Junior said before bursting into laughter. Juanita realized then that Junior knew her well and recognized her game. So she just played along, snapping her finger and twisting her lip in mock disappointment.
“You're getting too old, my son. Up in grown folks' business,” she added, patting his shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. “What was cookin' at ya dad's place?” she asked.