So the crazy bitch backed off and sat down, to await the arrival of the police.
They roared up a few minutes later. The young man’s name was Desmond “Po-Boy” Barker. He had a rap sheet a mile long and myriad outstanding warrants for everything from carjacking to armed robbery. The paramedics patched his leg and took him away on a stretcher. The police took her report, promised to touch base with the LAPD and the FBI, and left her and the Anthonys alone.
Pops said, “Having you around sure makes life interesting.”
JT gave him a small smile. “Nothing like a little target practice to cure my insomnia.”
“I told Reese we’d keep you safe, but you don’t really need us, do you?”
Jamal and Bryce flanked him, and they still looked amazed.
She said to them, “One of my great-great-grand-mothers was a gambler. The other organized a wagon train of mail order brides back in the 1880s. A great-great-grandfather was a Texas Ranger, and an uncle was an outlaw. No. We Blakes can take care of ourselves, thank you very much.”
“Then all I can say is: Who wants ice cream?”
Three sets of hands shot up.
Pops nodded. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
When Bobby turned over in the bed, he cracked open his eyes a bit, saw daylight through the small attic window, and moved deeper into the thin lumpy mattress with the intent of going back to sleep, until he noticed Ham seated in a chair right beside the bed. He was so startled, he sprang up and smashed his head against the attic’s low ceiling. As the pain thudded through him, Bobby fought off both the ache and the embarrassment brought on by Ham’s cold grin.
“Why the hell are you here?” Bobby asked.
“I could ask you the same question, but I already know the answer: You’re here because you’re stupid!” he yelled.
The forceful reply made Bobby jump again, but he tried to play it off. “Fuck you.” Ignoring Ham, he turned over and pulled the blanket back over himself, only to have Ham stand and snatch it away. Bobby flipped over to confront him but froze when he found himself staring at a silver gun with a bore the size of walnut.
“Stupid piece of educated shit!” Ham growled angrily. “I ought to blow you away right here, but that would be disrespectful to Miss Irene’s house. Do you know how much money you cost me because you had to steal from that dead old man? Do you?”
Bobby was trying not to shake but couldn’t stop.
“Big Bo’s been charged with smuggling. The popo’s probably going to link him to the murder, and he’s gonna have to sing to save his own ass, and you know what? I can’t be mad at him because I’d do the same damn thing!”
“What do you mean he’s been charged?”
“Oh, you’re deaf now too? Charged as in the FBI, muthafucka! He made bail, but he’d have to be stupid as you not to make a deal, and we both know he ain’t that.”
Bobby’s brain was trying to make sense of this, but Ham was throwing so much shit at him at once it was hard to focus so he could think.
“We want you out of the neighborhood,” Ham stated flatly.
Bobby glared contemptuously. What do you mean ‘we’? Who’s ‘we’? You don’t even live up here.”
“‘We’ is everybody who makes their living on the low low, and that means Watts, Compton, and South Central. You’re a liability. We don’t need the extra police patrols your being around is going to bring.”
“Nobody knows I’m here.”
Ham threw up his hands, gun and all. “Everybody and their cousin saw you driving through in your fancy ride. A kindergartner could give you up.”
“Nobody’s going to snitch.”
“Why, because you’re such a stand-up brother? You’re a fuck-up, Bob. Nobody’s going to protect you. Not around here, not nowhere. Word’s out.”
Bobby seethed.
“If you cared about somebody other than your own damn self, things might be different, but we want you gone. Be out of here by this time tomorrow or you’ll go out in a box.”
Ham saw the anger flashing in Bobby eyes, but he didn’t care. “Be glad I gave you a day. Some folks wanted you out last night.”
That said, he turned and walked over to the steps that led down to the floor below. He descended, and when Bobby heard the door slam at the foot of the staircase, he knew Ham was gone.
He cursed and planned to take all of those twenty-four hours, fuck Ham, his grandmother, and the rest of the haters. He wasn’t leaving one minute sooner. They could all kiss his black ass. He’d collect his car that he’d stashed with a guy Irene knew and then head for parts unknown. He didn’t need Ham or anyone else.
Satisfied with his plan, he pulled the covers over his head, but getting back to sleep took a long time.
Reese was riding with the detectives who were turning over rocks looking for Garrett. Hearing from Jessi and his family about last night’s visitor had left him so infuriated he wanted to get his hands around Garrett’s throat. He was glad that Jessi had taken care of herself, but what if the encounter had turned out differently? What if the cousin had been successful? JT had barely recovered from her first brush with death, and now this? He couldn’t wait to find Mr. Bobby G3 so the LAPD could throw his cowardly ass in a cell. Garrett had so many charges hanging over his head now, he’d be dead before he became eligible for parole, if a jury didn’t send him to Death Row first. The idea that Barker had come to kill Jessi while she was staying at his house only added to his mood. How Garrett had found the address was something law enforcement and the hospital was looking into, but he didn’t care about that now. Finding Garrett had become his one mission in life, and if he got the chance to get Garrett alone, he was sure he’d be going to jail because he planned to kick his ass until the snow fell.
But so far Garrett was nowhere to be found. They’d ridden out to his home in the Valley but found it as deserted and cleared out as his office had been. They’d flashed his picture in strip clubs, grocery stores, and fast food outlets all over the city, to no avail. Having a man tied to a bombing loose in the community wasn’t good for the community, so the media outlets had gotten involved by plastering his face on TV and in the newspapers. His name had been added to the no fly list, and his face would be displayed in post offices all over the country as the newest member of the FBI’s Most Wanted. Everybody from L.A. to the Bay area knew Garrett was wanted by the police, and because they did, Reese didn’t fret. It would only be a matter of time before he was caught. Jessi had upped the ante with the $10,000 reward. It was a lot of money, and eventually somebody was going to drop a dime to collect it.
And the sooner that happened, the sooner he could go back and propose to the Lady Blake. He wanted her to be his wife. Although he had no idea how she’d respond, he was ready to take the relationship to the next level. He’d kept his heart under lock and key since his divorce, but like the lyrics of one of Frankie Beverly’s tunes, Jessi had given him a reason to love one more time.
Big Bo Wenzel decided he wasn’t doing time; he wasn’t taking the fall for Garrett, and he certainly wasn’t going to trial. He knew that middle-age White men like himself didn’t fare well behind bars. If Bobby Garrett were to walk into his office, he’d choke him to death with one hand. Had Garrett not acted like a Compton grave robber and taken Pennington’s property, he wouldn’t have found himself cooked under the interrogation lights of the Feds, or be facing charges for dope smuggling. He and Ham agreed the operation was over, but he hadn’t made contact with his supplier to let him know what was going on for fear his phone was tapped. To shake the monkeys off his back, he was on his way to the rabbit hole. The Feds had confiscated his passport to make sure he didn’t leave the country, but he didn’t care. They could keep it. Where he was heading, he wouldn’t be needing it anyway.
He left his office and walked into Matt’s. “I think I’m going to run down to Santa Monica this evening and take the boat out. I want to see if I can find that oil leak in the motor. Ma
ybe it’ll relax me, take my mind off things.”
“Okay,” Matt said and added, “Sorry about all the mess. The courts. The media.”
The commissioner would be holding a press conference later that afternoon announcing Bo’s relinquishment of his duties as owner of the Grizzlies until after the trial.
Bo told him, “‘If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.’ Isn’t that how the old saying goes?”
“Yeah. It does.”
“I’m not going to jail, bet the bank on that. Garrett is still on the loose, though, and just in case something happens to me, give this to the police.” He tossed Max a CD.
“What’s this?”
“My testimony on what happened the night Pennington was killed. According to that, the only people in the conference room that night were Garrett and me, and Garrett did the shooting.”
Matt stared. “But why?”
“You’d last half an hour in prison, Matthew.”
Matt couldn’t remember the last time his father had called him by his full name. “I know, but you’d take the fall for me?”
Bo didn’t answer that. Instead he said, “You’re going to be a father. You need to be here for that. Who knows, maybe you’ll be better at it than I’ve been.”
Matt’s jaw dropped. He searched his father’s weary-looking face. “What’s going on with you?”
“Tired, that’s all.
“You sure?”
“Yep. In fact, I think I’m going to go on home. Spend the day puttering around the house, think about some things. Wait and see what the commissioner tells the press, then see about the boat.”
Matt was looking at him like he’d never seen him before. “Sure, go on ahead. I’ll take care of things here.”
Bo nodded. “I’ll see you later.”
In fact, Bo knew that more than likely it was going to be the last time they’d ever see each other. As he went back into his office to grab his keys and briefcase, the reality of that coupled with never seeing his unborn grandchild left him surprisingly melancholy. When had he gotten religion? he wondered.
JT was watching the afternoon edition of Sports Center and waiting on the press conference the commissioner was supposed to be having when her phone rang. It was Special Agent Tate calling to let her know that the federal prosecutor was prepared to offer Misha immunity in exchange for her testimony against Garrett. He was already being charged with a plethora of felonies, and now solicitation for murder had been added. Garrett hadn’t been found so far, but Tate was sure it wouldn’t be long. She promised to keep her up to date.
Now, JT turned up the sound on the flat screen as the commissioner’s press conference began. Reese was standing behind him. He was dressed in all black and looked so delicious, she could have lapped him up. Instead she opened her phone and called her mother, who’d gotten back from South Africa a few days ago.
When she came on the line, JT said, “Hey there, Mama.”
“Hello, baby. How are you?”
They chitchatted for a few moments, then JT told her about Garrett’s latest attempt to get her. Her mother was appalled. “Am I going to have to send your sister and my granddogs after this bastard? Glad you capped him before he could hurt anyone.”
“So am I. Do me a favor, turn on Sports Center.”
“I have it on.”
“Do you see that man in black standing behind the commissioner?”
“The fine chocolate one?”
“Yes, the fine chocolate one. That’s the one courting me.”
“Shut up! Oh, he’s gorgeous. I thought you said he was a truck driver?” Michele asked, sounding confused. “What’s he doing with the commissioner?”
“Long story.”
“I’m all ears, especially about Mr. Fine.”
They talked for nearly an hour about Reese, the ongoing investigation, Misha’s perfidy, and last but not least, Carole. JT had talked to Brad earlier, and he reported that she was still making good progress.
Her mother was pleased by that. “Give them both my love, and tell Brad I’m putting her name on the prayer list at church.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Talking to you, I didn’t hear a word the commissioner had to say. Guess I’ll have to catch the tape of the press conference later.”
“And I was too busy staring at Reese.”
Her mother laughed. “He is a fine one.”
“That he is.” And she hoped he’d be back sometime before the snow fell. “His father is a widower. Wants to meet you.”
“Oh really. He as fine as his son?”
“Yep, and he makes homemade butter pecan ice cream, Mama.”
“Do tell?”
“Should I hook you up?”
“We’ll see. Let’s let the dust settle around you first, then I’ll see about Mr. Fine’s butter pecan daddy.”
JT grinned. “Okay.”
“I’m going to let you go,” her mother said. “Take care of yourself and keep me posted, please.”
“I will. Love you.”
“You’d better. Love you, baby.”
Big Bo looked around his study to make sure everything was in order. He had no regrets. After it was over, Matt might have problems getting the insurance company to pay up, but he was smart, he’d figure out a way to handle them. Bo grinned, thinking about how disappointed his ex-wives were going to be when they found out there’d be no more alimony. But it was about time their gravy train ended anyway. Greedy whores.
He drove to the marina where his small speedboat was docked, and a few minutes later he was out on the open water. The engine was misfiring but he didn’t pay it any attention. He wouldn’t be needing it in a little while. When he was far enough away from land, he cut the engine, prepared himself, and waited for the end.
The explosion and the resulting fireball could be heard and seen for miles by the people gaping on shore. Many of them grabbed their cells and called 911, but the boat and whoever was on it appeared to be toast.
Matt Wenzel stood on the dock of the marina and waited for news from the police divers. It had been three hours since he’d gotten the call from the marina’s panicked owner. Matt had dropped everything and driven like a madman to get there, but he didn’t hold much hope. Neither did the divers. The explosion had been so powerful, only pieces of the boat remained, floating on the surface like flotsam. He was told it could be days, maybe years, before the body was found, if ever.
It was now too dark to see and the police were calling off the search. They promised him they’d be back first thing in the morning. Matt thanked them. Reeling from the shock, he went home to grieve.
Once he walked into the silent house, he began to cry. For the first time in his life, his father had acted as if he’d actually cared about him. Matt remembered how he’d gleefully wished for Garrett to get blown up, and he could only wonder if he was being punished for the cruel thoughts. There was certainly no glee in him tonight. He washed his face then picked up the phone. He had to call Melissa and give her the terrible news.
JT was watching the late edition of Sports Center on Reese’s flat screen when the news about Bo Wenzel’s boat accident was announced. It was yet another shock in a series of shocks for her, and she shook her head sadly. Many people had issues with Big Bo, but he’d always been kind to her. His coke dealing notwithstanding, she’d miss the old gator. She made a mental note to send condolences to Matt and the family in the morning.
The manner in which Bo died brought to mind her own explosion. As far as she knew, the police were still trying to locate Bobby Garrett. No tips had come in yet, but word had gone out about the reward money, and she was confident that it wouldn’t be long before the law enforcement agencies received something they could use.
In the meantime, she was missing home. She enjoyed being a guest of the Anthonys, and they were treating like she owned the place, but she wanted to go home; she had a million things to do in order to put her work life back to
gether, and it was difficult trying to do it from half a continent away. Carole was also a concern; even though she knew her friend was in good hands, JT wanted to see for herself. By the end of the week, she planned on being physically up to the challenge of flying, so she’d already booked her flight. The Anthony men weren’t going to be happy, but it couldn’t be helped. She was ready to go home.
She also missed Reese something terrible. She knew he was knee deep in the search for Garrett, which forced them to communicate sparingly, but she missed his mahogany voice and his presence. It was a given that he’d try and convince her to stay put, but she needed to go home so she could sit and think and attempt to make some sense out of all that had happened, then gather herself and move on. She understood that nothing would be truly settled until Garrett was found, but didn’t think that would be much longer.
She also needed time alone to think about what kind of relationship she wanted to have with Reese. Part of her was ready to toss caution to the wind and be with him from this day forward, amen, but other parts were still wary of how being with him might impact the independent life she’d carved out for herself. Maybe after she got home and Garrett was found, she’d fly to Texas for a few days to see her mother and try and integrate the warring parts of herself. Her mother Michele always gave good advice, even when JT didn’t like hearing it.
Eighteen
It was early evening when Miss Irene climbed the attic stairs. Her girth and age made climbing difficult, but Bobby’s face was all over the television. Because he was her grandson she’d give him one last chance to leave her house before the police dropped down on him like Godzilla on Tokyo, because she knew they were coming. “You gotta go,” she announced flatly.
“Ham gave me until the morning.”
“Well, this ain’t Ham’s place. I want you gone. Now.”
Deadly Sexy Page 26