Off Camera Affair 1 (The Motor City Drama Series)

by Jazz Jordan

  “Yes.”

  “Can I come with you? I’ve always had a thing for men in uniform.”

  “I need you to stay with Sam to finish up the edit before deadline. Besides, you’ve got your whole life to worry about men, uniformed or not.”

  She frowned. “No problem, Ms. Lewis, but will I ever get the chance to cover a really juicy story?”

  “Patience pays, Madison. Trust me on that. I’d better get going though. Call me if you need anything.”

  * * *

  The lobby at the Detroit Police headquarters was decorated with a fake Christmas wreath and dusty red ribbons.

  The receptionist was a morbidly obese, middle-aged sista with a red ponytail weave. She grinned at me and said, “You’re that Channel 5 reporter, right? Girl, I watch your special reports all the time. That one you did about teen prostitution was real good. It’s such a shame what them girls are willing to do for a twenty-dollar bill. Hell, that’s cheaper than a bucket of chicken!” She laughed at her own joke.

  I wanted to add that I was sure she knew the colonel’s menu by heart, but I managed to say merely, “Thanks. I’m glad you liked the story.”

  “Unfortunately, I still need to see your ID. It’s our policy.”

  “I’m here to see Detective Palermi,” I said, handing her my driver’s license. As a local celebrity in Detroit, such interactions were common; the people who saw me on TV every day felt as if they knew me. 

  “I see you just had a birthday. Did you do anything special to celebrate?”

  “Not really.”

  She looked down at my engagement ring. “Girl, is that a rock on your finger? Oh! Let me see!”

  I held my left hand in her face.

  “That’s real nice. Who’s the lucky man?”

  “Deandre Grant, he plays for the–”

  “Pistons, point guard, Number 14!”

  “You must be a big sports fan.”

  “My nephew cleans the locker rooms at the Palace. He gets me tickets to the games, so I’ve met all the ballers—Tayshaun, Chauncey, and Deandre too.”

  “Really?”

  “You bet. Listen, girl, I don’t mean to talk bad about your future husband, but I’d keep my eyes open if I were you. At the rate he’s going, he’ll be the next Wilt Chamberlain.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It ain’t none of my business, but I thought you should know. I mean, I’d hate to see a nice girl like you walk down the aisle with a man who has a harem of women from coast to coast.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and you need to keep your damn mouth shut.” I practically ran to the elevator and pressed the “Up” button as fast as I could. I stepped inside and pressed the button for the fifth floor. Clearly, the receptionist was jealous because a man like Deandre wouldn’t touch her, not even after guzzling down a pool full of liquor; but I knew hating was a religion for Detroit females. She embodied all the reasons why I avoided friendships with other women.

  I got off of the elevator and walked over to Detective Palmeri’s desk, waving at a few of the other officers on the way. He was sitting at his desk, talking on the phone as I approached his cubicle.

  He hung up quickly and said, “Hey, Kai.”

  “Hey. How are you?”

  “Getting by. Have a seat. I’d like to show you that video I was telling you about.” He turned around in his chair and punched some keys on his keyboard. He seemed distracted and down, and it was the first time he hadn’t offered me any coffee. His typical flirtatious manner had been replaced with a distant demeanor, and he was barely even cordial.

  I started to ramble, hoping to break up the tension. “With the bankruptcy and all the cutbacks, I can understand why the Christmas decorations aren’t Martha Stewart quality, but I think the boys and girls in blue still deserve a little holiday cheer, given the state of morale in the D.”

  He took a deep breath and said, “What I’m about to show you might make you uncomfortable, but you need to see it.”

  CHAPTER 20

  I sat at Detective Palmeri’s desk, watching his computer screen fill with a grainy video of a police interrogation. I recognized the man in the video right away: Ace, wearing the same leather jacket he’d been wearing the night I’d seen him at Banko’s Bar. His hair was slicked back in a ponytail, and in the video, Detective Palmeri lit Ace’s cigarette…

  * * *

  “I’ve been trying to quit this shit,” Ace explained as he took a long drag, “just like I been trying to quit the game. I swore I was gonna go straight this time when I made parole. I even got me a li’l bullshit job at Popeye’s for a minute. But then I got sick of fryin’ chicken for slave wages, and the streets called me again.”

  “The best thing you can do for yourself is talk to me,” Detective Palmeri said. “Tell me what happened…and don’t leave out a damn thing. I need to hear your side, because it doesn’t look good for you right now, Ace. The only way out is to tell me your side.”

  “What’s in it for me? I ain’t trying to go back to Jackson.”

  “I can’t promise you immunity, but I will talk the prosecutor on your behalf.”

  “Fuck dat! I want an attorney!”

  “Have it your way, but I can guarantee that you’ll do time if you don’t talk. Our informant will testify that you were responsible for everything that happened at that house on Nevada Street.”

  “You talkin’ ‘bout Boo-man’s crack-head ass? Hell naw! He’s lying! Ain’t no jury gonna believe him no way.”

  “You’re looking at a mandatory life sentence, and I know you’re too smart to take that gamble. Talk to me…so I can help you.”

  Ace took another long drag of his cigarette. “This is some bullshit, man! I wanna lawyer up!”

  The detective stood and walked to the door.

  “Hold up! Hold up, man!” Ace pleaded. “Are you serious about…mandatory life?”

  “Yeah, but if you talk to me and I can corroborate your story, I’m sure the prosecutor would be open to a reduced sentence.”

  Ace puffed his cigarette. “Reduced? As in…parole?”

  “That depends on what you have to tell me.” Detective Palmeri sat down again.

  “I ain’t no snitch, man! But I can’t be locked up for life.”

  “I know it’s not easy, but you’re doing the right thing.”

  “I swear, I never meant to get caught up in none of this shit! I can’t believe a man is dead. It’s been on my mind ever since that night. I’ve done some dirt in my day, but I ain’t never killed nobody.”

  “Just start from the beginning.”

  “A’ight. Well, one night, my brother took me the strip club, where he worked as a DJ. I had only been out of the pen for a few weeks, and I was on the prowl for some ass, ya know? I ran into a home-girl I knew from back in the day. She goes by the name Candy Apple. We had a few drinks, and I told her ‘bout my money troubles. A few weeks later, she called me and told me she had a new job, chatting online with horny motherfuckas for crazy cash. She wanted to get me hired there too.

  “I told her, ‘Hell naw! I’d rather put up with hot grease and rude ass customers at the register than to show my body to strange motherfuckas on the Internet.’ I was never down for that gay shit. Even when I was locked up, I did whatever I had to do to keep them horny niggas off my ass. So, anyway, she starts laughing and says, ‘No, stupid. I’m talking about you working security.’

  “The building was way on the East Side, and there was nothin’ around ‘cept for empty fields and a streetlight that didn’t work. When I walked inside, it looked like a normal office, till I went upstairs. In every cubicle, there was a different girl, sitting in front of a computer screen, getting naked and talkin’ ‘bout all types of freaky shit. They was all races, all sizes, all ages. Hell, one of ‘em looked like my grandma, and she was dressed in some Aunt Jemima getup!

  “The guy who ran the place was this preppy-ass white boy who went by the name of Cybe
rKing, one of them Silicon Valley rejects. In his office, he had a big TV, and he could see all his girls in little boxes on the screen. CyberKing told me he liked to watch. He also asked if I knew how to use a gun. I told him, ‘Yeah,’ and he offered me the job. He paid me a $1,000 a week to sit in my car and watch people comin’ and goin’ in and out of the building.

  “I knew CyberKing was up to something, but I didn’t worry about it. I was making decent money, and everything was cool. Then, one day, he introduced me to this cat named Boo-man and told me he was gonna be working with me on some special projects. Right away, I knew not to trust that freaky nigga. He was high as hell, and it wasn’t off no weed. I seen enough crack-heads to know better. They all got a certain look, a smell. It was clear to me that Boo-man was hooked on the pipe, even though he had a fresh haircut, nice clothes, and all that. That fool didn’t fool me.

  “I thought about quitting my job, ‘cause I know crack-heads are always getting caught up in some kinda craziness, and I didn’t want no part of that, but I needed that bread. I got a lotta kids, man, and going back to frying chicken wasn’t an option for me. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that CyberKing was stealing credit cards from the dudes who looked at the website. Then, he charged all types of shit and resold it on another website.

  “If one of the customers caught CyberKing, he blackmailed them with a video of them talking to one of his girls, getting off with them hoes. Most of the guys were married, with kids, so they backed off. But CyberKing didn’t steal from everybody. He even gave freebies to council members, judges, you name it. The governor’s nephew was one of the biggest customers. Those connects in high places kept him from getting busted.

  “CyberKing was making over a million a year, but too much ain’t enough for some folks, so he came up with another angle. The dudes who checked out the website was from all over the world, but there were a lot of local cats too. I guess it’s just too cold in the Midwest to go long without some ass.

  “CyberKing set up shop in a house nearby and named it the CyberQueen Love Shack, a spot for johns to meet the freaks of their dreams. Them horny fools drove up from all over the state, Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky even. My job was to be the lookout.

  “He only used his most trusted girls, but he paid ‘em top dollar. When the dude walked into the house, the chick was waiting for him. She’d get him to take his clothes off, then tease the poor motherfucka like crazy and invite him upstairs. Then, Boo-man’s would come outta the first-floor closet and steal the man’s clothes, wallet, and car keys and drive the whip to a chop shop.

  “Upstairs, the dude would be seconds away from getting some hot pussy, and he’d hear his car ignition. Ten times out of ten, he’d come running out of the house screaming, and that motherfucka was literally ass out! CyberKing upped his game from stealing credit cards to identities. They were all too embarrassed to press charges. Things went smooth for a minute.

  “Of all the girls, Candy Apple was the baddest. For starters, her ass is a thing of beauty, and she was the best at scheming those dudes and getting them all worked up while Boo-man did his part. Anyway, one night, a dude walked up in the house. I was in my car, on the phone with my baby-mama, playing lookout. Next thing I knew, I heard three gunshots. When I got in the house, I saw the dude’s dead body on the floor. There was blood all over, and the gun was on the floor. Boo-man said Candy Apple shot him, and she said he did it. I don’t know who the fuck to believe, to tell you the truth.

  “At first, I thought it was Boo-man. I mean, with him being a crack-head and all, murder wouldn’t be nothin’ but a thang to him. But Candy Apple had this look in her eye, like she wanted to pick up the gun and pop off a few more to make sure the motherfucka was dead. Anyway, Boo-man popped open his trunk, and we put the dude’s body in there. He swapped the license plate on the dead man’s car with one he stole.”

  “What kind of car was it?”

  “I think it was a Lexus…maybe it was a Benz. Whatever it was, it was real nice, the kind of ride that would give niggas wet dreams.”

  “So, then what happened?”

  “Boo-Man told Candy Apple to drive the car to the Paradise Motel parking lot and wait for us at the twenty-four-hour Coney Island across the street. But she never showed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she kept it the whip for herself. I know I would have.”

  “Enough about Candy Apple. What happened to the body?” Detective Palmeri asked.

  “Me and Boo-man took it to that crib on East Nevada. When we got inside, there was a funny smell in the air. It turned out that CyberKing had another website called CyberHitMen.com. He didn’t trust Boo-man to kill nobody. He hired professionals for that. Boo-man’s job was to chop up the bodies and make ‘em disappear, but all his crack-head ass did was pile up them dead motherfuckas in the basement of that empty house.”

  “Can you identify any of the seven we found?”

  “Naw. I don’t know nothing about them.”

  “What about the man you helped him take to the house?”

  “Boo-man stole the man’s ID. I don’t know his name. All I know is that he drove a souped-up whip.”

  “You can’t remember anything else about him?”

  “I tried to put that shit outta my mind, to be honest with you. I already told you everything I remember, man.” Detective Palmeri slid his notepad across the table toward Ace. “I’m gonna need you to write down the real names of everyone involved.”

  “I never found out CyberKing's real name, but I can tell you anything you wanna know about Candy Apple." Ace picked up the pen. “Will I get immunity?”

  “I doubt that. You’re not innocent by any stretch, but if you help me, I’ll try my best to help you.”

  * * *

  Detective Palmeri then stopped the video and looked at me. “I realize that wasn’t easy for you to watch, but I wanted you to see it, because I consider you a friend. I know Candy Apple’s real name is LaNaya Lewis, and I know she’s your sister.”

  I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. I thought back to her mentioning that she’d made $5,000 in one night. I remembered when she’d come to Mama’s house to celebrate my birthday, when that new Mercedes Benz was parked in the driveway. I remembered her telling me she was working for a webcam operation. It was sad and terrifying to think that my sister would drive around in a dead man’s car, but I knew she wasn’t capable of murder. I pleaded, “He’s lying to save his ass from prison! LaNaya would never kill anybody. He probably shot that man!”

  “This is an ongoing investigation, Kai, but if I can corroborate his story, she’ll be facing criminal charges.”

  “Detective Palmeri, you have to understand. My sister… I know she’s no saint, but she wouldn’t do this.”

  “Have you see her driving a Mercedes or Lexus recently, maybe one she just recently acquired?”

  “No,” I said, but I was in shock, so my lie didn’t sound very convincing at all.

  “LaNaya’s actions make her guilty of second-degree murder. If you love your sister, you should call her right now and tell her to turn herself in. If she tells her side and everything adds up, I’m sure the prosecutor will be lenient. With a plea bargain, she won’t even have to do much time.”

  I started to cry. “But you don’t understand, Detective. She has two children. She can’t go to prison!”

  “I sympathize with your situation, but things will be even worse for your sister if she doesn’t do the right thing and turn herself in. There’s a warrant out for her arrest.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Sitting in my car in the parking lot of the police station, I nervously called LaNaya several times, but the calls went straight to voicemail. I left her six or seven messages, each more frantic than the last. I sent her a text message that read: “Please call me ASAP!” Then I called Ace, but I only got the annoying three-toned beep and a message by an automated operator, telling me the number had been disconnected.

  Back at work, my mind repla
yed the detective’s words: “second-degree murder…turn herself in…” Despite all the grimy shit LaNaya had done in her life, I refused to believe that she was guilty of something so heinous. I was also pained by the fact that Ace had implicated her. The man I’d trusted with my virginity years ago, the same man I’d strongly considered inviting into my bedroom just a few weeks prior, could be responsible for putting my sister behind bars.

  Frank approached my desk. He was wearing a green Armani suit and his seductive cologne. “Madison told me the good news. Congratulations on your engagement. I hope Deandre realizes he’s got an extraordinary woman, and… Hey,” he said, pausing to look at me closely. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head and kept staring at the blank page on my computer screen. I was supposed to be writing voiceover copy for a special news report, but I was too distracted to be productive. “Nothing,” I said flatly.

  “I know you better than that, Kai. Talk to me.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and rubbed them gently. Frank had gifted fingers; if he hadn’t gone into journalism, he would’ve thrived at massage therapy.

  My first mind was to tell him to stop, but his touch felt good after the stressful ordeal I’d just experienced at police headquarters that I was practically putty in his hands. Even though there were dozens of people around, I felt like we were all alone at that moment. Only the sight of my glistening engagement ring inspired me to pull away from his soothing massage. I knew it wasn’t fair to Deandre for me to get close to Frank. In the near future, I would be a married woman, and any physical contact with him would be out of the question. Our shared history would never vanish, but from that point on, I had to be 100 percent committed to Deandre. Still, there was a small part of me that was going to miss my connection with Frank.

  He knelt down and whispered in my ear. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Just trying to make my deadline,” I said as I looked up at him.

  “Does he make you happy?”

  I nodded.

  “Sometimes I wonder…never mind. I’ve gotta get back to some deadlines of my own. I just wanted to personally congratulate you. And in case you’re wondering, you can invite me to the wedding. In fact, I’d be hurt if you didn’t. I promise not to make a scene.”