Casanegra

by Blair Underwood

  Devon’s mother searched my face, as if to askHow much do you know? Then she looked away from me again, her eyes back on the photograph. “Lord, that’s the truth.” She breathed in a long, shuddering inhalation and exhaled, shaking her head. Weary. It reminded me of the way my father had sounded in his sickbed.

  “I wanted to come to this street and walk in Serena’s shoes for a while,” I said. “All I keep wondering is, ‘Where did it go wrong? How could it have been different?’”

  I felt Devon’s mother stiffen against me. I heard moisture on her lips as they opened. “Tell you the truth, sugar, I was right here and I don’t know myself. Serena’s family was a mess before I met her. But I will say this…Do you have children?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “Not yet.”

  “Well, when you do, just remember a lesson: Wallace and I both grew up without anything, so we thought a nice house and nice clothes and a good education would be enough for Dev. But it’s not. We were working ten-, twelve-hour days trying to keep that insurance business going. But maybe we should have let it go, because when you have kids, you have tobe there. You have to watch them. Do you understand?”

  My heart pounded. Maybe she and her husband had heard more than I’d thought. Her words made me think of Chela. Was she still at Eso Won, or had she called herself a cab as soon as I was out of sight? “Yes, ma’am, I hear you,” I said.

  Dorothea Biggs went on quickly, unburdening herself. “Pull them apart, they were ordinary kids. But together?” She shook her head to let go of the thought. When she went on, she sounded energized. “Shareef justknew he was going to be somebody—so funny and smart and fearless, really. Devon lit up like a bulb around Shareef, and their friendship pushed Dev to try to be somebody, too. All his life we’d told him about going to college, but he didn’t show a flea’s speck of interest until Shareef told him to go learn about business so they could work together.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Shareef made Dev aspire to higher heights. And Serena, too, of course.” Her face soured. “But it was different with Serena. With her, it was more like she thought Shareefwas her Way and Light. If you ever asked her about the future, all she said was Shareef this and Shareef that. Not a boyfriend-girlfriend thing like you were saying, but she just followed him, followed him,followed him.

  “I was so glad when she broke out on her own. You just heard Devon even now talking about how much Serena owed to Shareef. That may be true, but he owed her, too. Those boys loved Serena—they really did—but I never thought they gave her proper credit. Young people are selfish by nature. You never see everything all at once. Sometimes it takes a long time. A different perspective.”

  “Yes, ma’am?” A subtle inflection to encourage her to keep talking. Gently.

  Her voice took on a faraway quality again, as if she were speaking to herself. “If I’m honest, Robbie was the only one who treated her the way she deserved. Like a queen. It was all Robbie’s idea, you know.”

  My heart thundered so loudly when she saidRobbie, I almost missed everything she said afterward. “What was his idea?” My voice was hoarse.

  “To record her own CD. To become Afrodite. He was always pushing her for that, even in high school. Serena could rapand sing, but she was too shy in front of people. Robbie always said she should step more out front. I wish she had stayed with him, but they only dated a few months in high school. Robbie would have kept Serena out of a lot of trouble she didn’t need to be carrying. And now look—they’re both dead only a few days apart. Like the Lord planned to bring them home together.”

  My mind was doing cartwheels. Jenk had been much more important in Serena’s life than I thought. “Did they keep in touch?” I asked.

  “Here and there. They both stopped by the house to see me after Shareef’s funeral. The girl was so distraught, you would have thought she just buried the rest of her own life over at Forest Lawn. Sheworshiped Shareef. And like always, Robbie was here holding her hand, cheering her up. I asked Serena if she was back with Robbie…but she said they were just friends—”

  “Robbie?” Devon said, cutting her off from where he was eavesdropping in the hallway. “Mama, how many times I gotta tell you he doesn’t deserve that pedestal you’re always trying to put him on? He wasn’t the Robbie you used to know. Reenie was too polite to say it, but he turned cold-blooded, Mama. She was scared of him. Shareef wouldn’t be dead now if not for Robbie.Bet.” His fists were clenched, and anger had flushed his face nearly crimson. “Don’t be surprised if he killed Reenie, too.”

  “How can you say that?” his mother said, shaking her head and swatting at the air as if she had walked into a nest of flies. “He was a police detective, Devon. It makes you sound so spiteful and ugly when you say that.”

  Devon met my eyes—Keep out of it—so I knew my line of questioning was over. If Devon told his mother about my visit to Robbery-Homicide, she would be quick to blame me for Serena’s death rather than her beloved “Robbie.” Had Serena and Jenk loved each other once? Love can curdle into hate…but enough hate for him to kill her?

  Devon hugged his mother. She almost wrenched herself away from him, but she relented, accepting his tight embrace. He kissed her cheek. “Mama…I wish I lived in your world. You only see what you want to see.”

  “I’ve seen plenty in this world, Dev.Plenty.” Then, almost despite herself, her voice broke. The sound was choked and heartbroken, laden with history. The horrible sound pricked my eyes, too.

  I wanted to hear more about Serena and Jenk, but I recognized a private moment when I saw one. I excused myself and waited outside on the front porch.

  The ghost of Serena sat beside me, offering me her Popsicle with a smile.

  “Can you believe that shit?” Biggs said as we left his yard and walked back toward the abandoned apartment building at a brisk pace, nearly a jog. It was five after three, so we were late. “I built a multi-million-dollar empire, and she’s still talking about Lap Dog Jenk. To her, I’m not my daddy, that’s all. Never wore a uniform.”

  Dorothea Biggswas right about one thing: Her son was self-absorbed. “Serena had a little something to do with Casanegra,” I reminded him.

  “I know that, fool. Reeniewas Casanegra. Man, we were gonna storm Hollywood like the Marines at Normandy.” His voice gave a tremor, and I wondered if he was sorrier to lose Serena or his helm at the Casanegra landing boat.

  “Why doesn’t your mom talk about Tyra?”

  “Tyra pisses on everybody around her, and Mama knows that. People don’t change. That’s a fact.”

  “So why did you agree to meet her today?” I said. “You’re a busy man.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good damn question,” Biggs said, gazing toward the shattered building waiting at other end of the block. “Maybe for Serena’s sake. Tyra seemed all broken up, like she needed somebody to talk to. Reenie never gave up on her, so…” He shrugged. “It’s funny about history. It cuts deep, like family. The good and the bad.”

  Under the circumstances, I figured I owed Biggs a more complete rundown of everything I’d learned about Tyra. While the Chihuahua yapped and I kept my eyes on those tall hedges, I told him how Tyra’s alibi didn’t hold up. And how Tyra had been sighted at the grocery store on Sunset, half a block from where Serena was found.

  Biggs listened, bug-eyed, walking faster and faster. “You weren’t straight with me about what you had on Tyra,” he complained.

  “We’re even, since you forgot to mention how tight Jenk and Serena were. Is it true Jenk talked her into becoming Afrodite?”

  “Jenk didn’t talk her into shit. We all planned for Reenie to bust out. Jenk whispered a few things in her ear way back, butShareef made Afrodite.” Devon’s mother had said Serena had worshiped Shareef, and I could see that worship shining from Devon’s eyes, too. Shareef must have been highly charismatic at a young age.

  A white van squealed around the corner from the street behind us, and I shifted 180
degrees, remembering my gun.ELDER SERVICES TRANSPORTATION was painted in script on the door of the van, which was empty except for a young female driver. It never slowed. We both watched the van until it was gone.

  “You still want to meet Tyra?” I said.

  “Hell, yes,” Biggs said. “Maybe she wants to confess. I mean, Reenie was hersister —there’s no coming back from that. That’s Cain and Abel shit, Old Testament:And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand.” Biggs’s face had gone flat while he recited the biblical passage, as if he was being washed in an emotionally cleansing pool. Then, his jaw sharpened with pained rage. “Crazy bitch.”

  “It’s just a theory,” I said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  My car was still parked where I’d left it. I glanced through my windows at the front and back seats. No one hiding. I scanned the street for creeping cars. Clear.

  “You really are a bodyguard, huh?” Biggs said. “How does that work? You go to school, or what?”

  “There’s training. Defensive driving, awareness, weapons skills…” I shrugged. “Most of us are former cops. I dropped out of the Academy, but…let’s just say friends hooked me up after I dealt with a problem or two for them.”

  He would have known the names instantly, but keeping my mouth shut is one of the things I’m paid for. I didn’t talk about that part of my life with strangers, but I didn’t mind talking to Biggs.

  “So you like know karate and shit?” He chopped the air with his hands.

  “And shit.”

  “So…how does a brother with skills end up selling his ass? Enlighten me on that one.”

  “My only clients were women,” I said, and immediately regretted falling for his goading. Why did he get under my skin so much? From the moment he’d first met me on Serena’s arm, he looked at me as if he could see straight through to my core.

  “Men, women, whatever. Selling ass is selling ass.”

  “I’d rather sell my ass than suck out somebody’s soul for a free ride. Isn’t that what the pimp game is all about? Your mom’s shed is nice, by the way. You and Shareef had a tight little operation. Did you sneak in the johns through the back fence? Enlighten me on that one.”

  Devon winced, his eyes churning.Bull’s-eye. “Fuck off, man,” he said in a hollow voice. “We were kids who didn’t know any better. And yeah, in case you’re wondering, Tyra ran her big mouth, so my parents found out about the shed a week before my dad died in a crash on the 10—which is still the worst week of my life. So skills or not, you best not bring up this particular subject again.” He was nearly whispering, his eyes straight ahead.

  I let it go. At least Tyra had told me the truth about Serena’s childhood. Maybe Tyra really did know something more about how and why Serena had died, especially if Tyra was connected to her sister’s death.

  We crossed the street to the ramshackle Baldwin Chateau Villas. The front curb was empty except for a fire hydrant. There was no sign of Tyra, and I laughed at myself for assuming she would show up on time—or at all. The building loomed in front of us, a forgotten dream full of trash and shadows. Beyond the gate, I saw an empty swimming pool and a vending machine tilted on its side, but nothing else.

  “How long has this been like this?” I asked Biggs.

  “Two, three years. My mother’s worn out her phone calling to bitch about it. Developers couldn’t get their act together. But don’t think this was Club Med when Reenie lived here. Only time there was water in that pool was when it rained.”

  Beyond the crumbling walkway, the wrought-iron front gate was unchained, and the door hung open slightly in invitation. The gate was dull and rusty, but the chain was brand new, with a new Master padlock. I was almost sure it had been chained when I got here. Or could it have justlooked chained from across the street?

  “Is that usually locked?” I asked Biggs.

  “Hadn’t noticed. It’s been a while,” Biggs said. “Maybe she went in already.”

  “Where would she go?”

  “Second floor. Apartment 12B. That’s where they used to live.”

  My hindbrain’s bullshit detector went on full alert, sirens wailing. If I was looking for places to ambush someone, Chateau Villas would have topped the list.

  “Feel free to go check it out,” I said with a sarcastic grin. “I’ll wait here.”

  Biggs was gazing beyond the gate to the shambled, shadowed courtyard, littered with debris from a parade of uninvited visitors.

  “I’m hanging here with you, man,” Biggs said. “Your company ain’t shit, but at least you’re strapped.” He cupped his hands to his mouth, shouting toward the courtyard: “Hey,Ty-RRRAAAAAA.” His voice echoed endlessly inside the building’s shell.

  Otherwise, silence.

  Biggs got on his Blackberry, waiting a long time with it pressed to his ear. “Hey, Ty, we’re here,” he said, leaving her a message. “Where are you?”

  It was twelve after three. We were late, so maybe she went inside. She could have thought Biggs would go to 12B. It was possible. She had told him she wanted to walk through the old building.

  “Screw it,” I said, against my better judgment. “Let’s go in.”

  I hope several more lifetimes pass before I ignore my better judgment again.

  FIFTEEN

  SOMETIMES A PLACE LOOKS SO WRONGthat it makes the fine hairs on the nape of your neck start dancing. That was how Serena’s old apartment building looked as we forced open the gate’s screaming hinge. Biggs walked so closely beside me, I had to nudge him back to leave half a foot between us. He was making me nervous, but I couldn’t afford to think about Biggs; my eyes had too much work to do.

  The building was a nightmare warren of places to hide—the drained swimming pool ahead, the toppled vending machine to my left, the stacks of crates everywhere, a Dumpster to my right, sheets of leaning cardboard. Not to mention at least three dozen apartments that lined the walls on two floors all around us, more than half of them missing their doors and some of them missing their walls altogether. From where we stood at the mouth of the courtyard, the building looked like a mouth full of broken teeth.

  Forty yards separated us from the other end of the courtyard, where the gate was closed and chained. There might be only one way out—the front gate. The elevator to my right was useless with its doors propped open, stuck midway between floors.

  The neglected swimming pool about fifteen yards inside the gate could have been a bomb crater. I reached the pool a few seconds before I smelled it, or I would have kept clear altogether. The pool was empty except for a large puddle of brown-black muck six feet down that smelled bad in so many ways that I couldn’t catalogue all the odors. Human waste. Decomposing rats, maybe. You get the idea. We pinched our noses.

  As we walked, we tried to keep our feet clear of the debris: food wrappers, a diaper soiled green, discarded condoms full of DNA, broken hypodermics, empty baggies that had once carried weed or cocaine rocks, toys broken beyond recognition, vomit. I didn’t want any souvenirs from Baldwin Chateau Villas on the soles of my Bruno Maglis, but I stepped on a few unpleasant items because I couldn’t keep my eyes down. It was better not to look anyway. Behind me, Biggs cursed to himself after stepping on something that crunched.

  I held my finger to my lips:Shhhhh. I pointed up:How do we get upstairs?

  He peeled off left and motioned for me to follow. I pulled out my gun, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that sooner. By instinct, I tried to shadow him the way I would if he were a client, keeping my own body between Biggs and the overturned vending machine beneath the second-floor overhang. As we passed the machine, I was relieved to see only a pile of newspapers—a vagrant’s bedding, maybe—but nothing else behind it.

  A stairwell appeared, just out of sight from the entrance. Biggs began climbing the gum-blackened concrete steps, but I grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. I held up a finger:Wait. Then, I crept around to peek i
nside the darkened shaft beneath the stairwell. A movement and a flash of white.

  I snapped my gun’s nozzle up, ready to fire, but my brain stayed calm and told me it was only a small animal. When I blinked, I saw a dingy white alley cat scamper away. I thought I heard a scraping sound—a sound more like a sole on concrete, not a cat—but after twenty seconds, I didn’t hear it again. I pointed the gun down, took one more glance around for movement, and motioned for Biggs to follow me up the stairs.

  He did, smirking like he thought I was paranoid.

  More trash on the steps, and an unmistakable cat piss smell.

  Nearing the top landing, I held out my arm to keep Biggs back and scanned left and right. The apartment closest to the stairs was missing most of its front wall and part of its roof. Inside the darkened space I saw piles of concrete, debris, tarps, and more endless places to hide. If this was an ambush, we were screwed.

  Biggs peered around, disoriented. “Damn,” he said, stunned by the chaos.

  So far, there was no movement except for the end of a tarp flapping from a wind tunnel inside the demolished apartment. I looked around twice more. Three times.

  “Which way?” I said.

  He pointed right. “The end. Corner unit.”

  “You hear anything you don’t like, be ready to duck,” I told him.

  “You’re a trip, man,” Biggs said, chuckling. “Secret Service. Who knew?”

  We walked as carefully as I knew how, never venturing too far from the concrete wall that stretched around the length of the building, overlooking the courtyard. Every open doorway and hole in a wall was a danger zone, so thirty yards felt like a mile. My armpits were sopping. From above, the pool looked like an open sore.

  “This one,” Biggs said.

  Apartment 12B was the only one nearby that still had a door, and it was closed. I motioned for Biggs to step back and pressed my ear to the door. No sound or sign of movement. Two feet from the door, a picture window was still intact, so I crouched to take a look. The window was bare, without curtains. I was surprised to find a normal living room bathed in light from a dining area window at the other end of the room. The light-colored carpet was filthy. Lumber and debris were piled against the wall, but at least the walls were intact. This looked like a place someone could have lived.