“You know what? You’re full of shit. This is what happens when you lie.”
I squeezed just enough to feel the tendons and ligaments stretching. Tyra yelled out, and Christine McVie and Lindsey Buckingham screamed back at her in harmony. I’d rarely subdued a woman—most notably the time a drunk woman tried to get too close to a client—and I was so uncomfortable about the size differential that I went too easy on her and nearly got hit in the head with a beer bottle. This time, I was afraid I might really hurt Tyra just because I wanted to.
“You SONOFABITCH!”Tyra shrieked. More tears flooded her redrimmed eyes.
I eased up. “Try the truth this time. Why did Glaze tell you to call me?”
“What the hell you think? You broke into his damn house and stole his girl. Glaze ain’t gonna stand for that shit. You must’ve been out your damn mind, fool. And they’re saying you killed Jenk, too.”
“What about Biggs? Why did Glaze go after him?”
I saw it again: the forehead flutter, completely unconscious. “He figured Biggs must’ve told you where his beach house was,” Tyra said. “Payback.”
That lie was so flimsy, Tyra sounded like she didn’t believe it herself.
“Bullshit. Why would he have Biggs killed for that?”
“You better ask Glaze. I told you, he don’t tell me all his business. Shit, when M.C. Glazer calls you uppersonally to ask you to do some shit, you do it. What planet you living on, asshole?”
“And it had nothing to do with Serena? Like Biggs helping me figure out Glaze was the one who had her killed?”
“Glaze didn’t kill Serena,” Tyra said. Her forehead was still, this time; either she was telling the truth, or she thought she was. “He didn’t give enough shit about Serena to waste time on her. Why’s he gonna kill her?”
Jenk had said the same thing on my voicemail the day he died. So had Glaze.
“But what about you, Tyra?” I said. “It must have eaten you alive to see the whole world paying attention to Serena—and nobody noticing you.”
“Fuck you. You don’t know me.”
“You weren’t at Mackey’s when Serena died, so where were you?”
For the first time, Tyra didn’t answer right away. She was still breathing hard, but she took an effort to slow down, stopping to think. Tyra took a deep breath. “OK,” she said. “I’ll tell you. But like I said, nobody else.”
“Go on.”
“I was getting high. I’ve got this friend, and sometimes we smoke out.”
Tyra wasn’t talking about smoking weed; she was smoking crack when Serena died. That was why she lied about being at the nightclub. She’d probably told the police the same story she tried to sell me. If Lieutenant Nelson hadn’t been so obsessed with nailing me for Serena’s death, he would have discovered the lie himself.
“What else?” I said. There had to be more.
“And…” Tyra shook her head, as if trying to block out the memory. “She called me that night. That same night she died.”
No forehead tic. I almost held my breath.
“What did she say?”
“Like I said, I was high—I don’t remember. But she was all pumped up. She talked about this new track she had coming out, something Anonymous.”
“‘Life Anonymous’?” I said.
“Yeah. She was saying how she wanted to start her life over again, like a twelve-step program. She said she wanted to start out fresh. She said she was gonna finally take her bronze man home.”
My heart leaped. “What bronze man?”Was she talking about me?
Tyra paused, and I thought I saw the forehead flutter again. “I don’t know. She figured out I was high, and we got in a fight. She told me to go to hell and hung up. She said she didn’t know why she kept wasting her time with me.”
“What time did she call?”
“I don’t know. Maybe eight. Maybe nine.”
Serena had called Tyra within two hours of her death. Maybe less than that.
“Why didn’t you tell the police she called?”
“’Cause I was at a friend’s house, that’s why. I don’t tell police my business.”
“That might’ve helped them solve your sister’s murder, if you give a shit about that,” I said. I resisted the urge to slap her face. “Was Serena sleeping with Jenk?”
Tyra’s lips soured. “He wanted to be. She cut him loose.”
“When?”
“High school. She said he was too wild, running the streets. But he never stopped sniffing her ass like a damn puppy. Sometimes he hooked up with me so he could feel like he was getting the real thing.” It was a painful admission; her voice softened. Her forehead was smooth. Those last words were probably the truest Tyra had spoken all day.
“Did Serena mention Jenk when she called you?”
“No. It was all about her and her life.”
“Could Jenk be the bronze man?”
Tyra squinted, confusion pinching her expression. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
I tried to remember what I could from the lyrics to “Life Anonymous” again:But blood in your eyes is reflecting at me / Like pools from the Dead Emcee Sea.
“Did Jenk kill Shareef?”
Tyra shrugged, turning her face away from me. “I guess we’ll never know now. Jenk’s dead. You killed him, remember?” I saw it again: Her forehead was waving like a flag on Independence Day.
“You know I didn’t kill Jenk,” I said. “And you know I didn’t kill Serena. My guess? The only reason you know I didn’t is that you know whodid. And everywhere I go, it all points back at you.”
Tyra’s eyes spat acid at me, taunting. “Like I said…you don’t know shit. The cops said somebody dumped her body in that alley, and I can’t see good enough to drive at night, fool. It’s on my license.”
“Jenk could drive.”
“I wasn’t with him. I was with my friend all night, both of us fucked up, and then I caught a bus over to Sunset in the morning to get the studio time. We don’t want to mess up my friend’s parole, but she’ll back me up if she has to.” Tyra’s forehead was still, so she might have been telling the truth again. Twice in one day. I was surprised she hadn’t sprained her tongue.
I was frustrated, and I knew I was running out of time. Tyra was a harridan of the lowest breed. Even if she hadn’t killed her sister, whoever killed Serena couldn’t possibly be more evil than the woman who had stolen Serena’s face. But there is no law against being vile. I could try to have her arrested in connection with the apartment fire and shooting, but that wouldn’t get me closer to Glaze. It wouldn’t take me any closer to the truth about how Serena died.
Our conversation was interrupted by banging on the hotel room door.
“Keep quiet,” I warned Tyra, my heart pounding. “If not, you’ll be talking to Palm Springs police about a fire in your old neighborhood.”
My grip loosened, so Tyra yanked her wrist away from me. By the way she smiled to herself, she was probably thinking that she’d rather face the cops in Palm Springs than I would M.C. Glazer’s bodyguards, who might be at the door.
On my way to the door, I turned the music down. The room was silent.
I peeked through the peephole: It was Enrique, with two other uniformed hotel employees with him. He no longer looked like my friend, but I was glad to see him.
After I opened the door, Enrique stared at me a moment before he spoke. “Your music’s too loud, sir,” he said, glancing over my shoulder to see inside the room. Tyra was barely visible, rubbing her wrist near the bed. “We’re getting complaints.”
“Yeah, I’m so sorry about that. We love Fleetwood Mac, and we got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
Enrique could feel something wrong vibrating in the room, and he was scared. He looked at me—reallylooked at me. I tried to assure him with my eyes. If I’d known him longer, or if we’d shared more history, he could have trusted my word. But he didn’t.
“It’s
time for you to leave this room, sir,” he said.
I nodded toward the balcony. “Can I…?”
Enrique sighed and followed me to the balcony, and I closed the glass door behind us. M.C. Glazer was back at the pool in conference with Stan Greene. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it wasn’t hard to imagine:Where’s Tyra?
“One last thing, man…” I breathed to Enrique.
“We’re all paid up now,” Enrique said. “In fact, now you oweme. Get out.”
“You’re right. I do. But that woman is dead center of a murder investigation. The minute you let her loose, she’s going to run to M.C. Glazer and tell him I was here, and he will try to kill me. All I need is time to get off the grounds before that happens.”
Enrique gazed through the glass door at Tyra, his face as pained as if I’d asked him to cut off a toe. Tyra was complaining to the other two security men about the drink Donna had spilled on her clothes. Loudly.
“I thought gangsta music was just an act,” Enrique said. “Like Mafia movies.”
“It is, for some rappers. Not for M.C. Glazer. He’s the real thing, man.”
Enrique closed his eyes, probably begging the heavens to get me out of his life. Then he sighed, glancing at his watch. “You ask a lot of your friends, Ten,” he said. “You’ve got ten minutes.Largate.” In other words,Get Lost.
My limbs loosened with relief. I shook Enrique’s hand, clasping it. “Thanks, man. I owe you, and I always pay. Kiss that pretty baby for me.”
While Enrique and his two men dutifully took notes from Tyra about the accident poolside, I slipped out of the room without another glance at her. By the time the door closed behind me, I could hear her voice ringing through the hall. “Motherfucker,WHAT did I just say? That bitch was giving me attitudeALL DAY…” I realized I hadn’t paid Donna nearly enough for what I had asked her to do.
Enrique was right. I was asking a lot of everyone I knew, expecting them to carry my burdens. And why? I still didn’t know how or why Serena died.
I hardly breathed until I was out of the hotel, and the valet summoned me a cab. Tyra didn’t want to see the police any more than I wanted to see M.C. Glazer, or I never would have made it that far.
After the cab pulled away from the palatial hotel’s curb, I looked through the rear window to make sure no one was following me. The only people I saw were two women dressed for tennis and a set of middle-aged parents and two teenage girls piling out of their Mercedes minivan, excited to begin their vacation.
As the resort’s idyllic green grounds rolled behind me, there was no one chasing me, or even noticing me. That peaceful, lovely appearance hiding the presence of a creature like Tyra Johnston was the biggest lie I had ever seen.
When I got to my room, April wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me as if I was a soldier just home from Baghdad. Everything else in my head went away as I sank into that kiss. I felt bruised from my time with Tyra, torn by the contradiction between the cruel trick of her face and what I saw in her heart, but April had no contradictions. I cherished her soft body and lips against mine.
“Where’s Chela?” I said, finally coming up for air.
“She was at the pool when I got here. Should we get her?”
“Yeah, in a minute,” I said, and kissed her again.
While April and I made sure we’d packed everything, I told her about my conversation with Tyra. She was as surprised and disgusted as I was to learn that Tyra had talked to Serena the night of her sister’s death and never mentioned a word about it.
“It was a sick little ménage à trois,” April said. My thoughts exactly. “The ‘bronze man’ is Jenk. He wanted Serena—but Tyra wanted Jenk. Maybe things got cozy between Jenk and Serena on the movie shoot, so Serena called Tyra to give her sister notice that she was going to take Jenk for herself. Tyra freaked out and killed her before she could steal him.”
“Then Tyra killed Jenk…” I said, mulling it over.
“Maybe Jenk figured out what happened. Or she was afraid he would.”
April liked to think aloud, but I liked to confine my thoughts to my head. The police said Jenk had been shot in theback of the head—so either he had been taken by surprise, or he was killed by someone he had trusted enough to turn his back to. Someone he knew well enough to underestimate.
Someone like Tyra.
“That could be why Jenk called me,” I said. “Heknew M.C. Glazer hadn’t killed Serena. He wanted to warn me off before I got hurt.”
Tyra was the nexus. Tyra had a connection to every event this week, from her sister’s death to the attack in the apartment building. Either she was the mastermind or she was a gamepiece, but she knew much more than she had told me. I could be underestimating Tyra, just like Jenk probably had.
But it still didn’t fit together neatly. Tyra hadtold me about the phone call from Serena. Shetold me about Serena and her Bronze Man. Why would she incriminate herself? Out of guilt?
Nothing made sense. Maybe it never would.
“Let’s see if that’s enough to get Lieutenant Nelson off my back,” I said, holding April’s shoulders. “I got some good advice from someone about dealing with Serena’s death.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She said I might be trying to solve this for all the wrong reasons.”
April gave a sad smile, kissing my chin lightly. “Notall the wrong reasons, Ten. It just hurts when people die, especially when it’s a murder. Pain shows up in different ways.” She sighed. “And I hate to say it, but you already have your hands full.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chela. She’s one very confused kid, and she’s got a thing for you.”
“She said that?”
April pursed her lips. “Come on, Ten. She didn’t have to. You can see it. She barely looked at me when I tried to talk to her at the pool.”
It seemed like ages ago when Chela had presented herself to me, naked in my bed. I’d shoved the whole episode away in my mind just to banish the image, but then I’d behaved as if it had never happened. That hadn’t been smart.
The room phone rang. “Speak of the devil?” I said, and picked it up.
“You’re back, finally.” It was Chela, and I could tell she was straining not to sound upset. In her mind, I’d been ignoring her. Hell, Ihad been ignoring her.
“Yeah, Chela, sorry we ran out before you got up, but—”
Chela snapped off my words. “Come to my room right now. I want to talk to you. And don’t bringher.”
“I’ll be right there, hon.” I hung up and looked at April, wincing. I had just dodged one minefield with Tyra, and now I had another with Chela. I’d been so intent on planning our family vacation, I had forgotten that April, Chela, and I weren’t a family.
“This trip always felt weird to me,” April said. “I’m sure it does for her, too. Maybe she should sit up front with you while we’re driving back.”
I nodded. Right. I hadn’t even thought about how Chela might have felt being exiled to the backseat while April sat up front with me.Shit. I had no business trying to take care of this child on my own. I didn’t know anything about children, much less a child carrying as much damage as Chela.
“I’ll start making some calls later today,” I told April. The thought made me sad. “A friend of mine did a big piece on foster care a few months ago, all these success stories, and she has great contacts. We’ll find Chela a good home.”
As I stood in front of Chela’s hotel room door, it was like walking into a cloud of gloom, almost exactly the way it had felt to cross the threshold into Serena’s old apartment building. I felt anxious and sad and even scared. I blamed my dread on not wanting to let go of Chela, maybe because it felt like letting go of Serena. I was so busy overanalyzing my feelings that I ignored the obvious:Something was wrong.
Chela’s voice had been wrong. Something outside of that door felt wrong.
Room 138 was all wrong.
I knocked
anyway.
“Come in. Don’t speak. Show me your hands.”
Lorenzo’s voice was calm, disciplined. The first thing I saw when he opened the door was the shiny black Glock in his hand. Pointed right at my chest.
Where’s Chela?My two breakfasts bloated in my stomach, and my mouth filled with a sickly acid taste while my heart rattled my ribcage. I prayed that if I did everything Lorenzo said, I was the only one who would get hurt.
I’m a dead man.I might not die here at the Palm Springs Hilton, but my body would be dumped somewhere by nightfall. Just like Serena and Shareef. Had Lorenzo and DeFranco been Serena’s killers all along? M.C. Glazer’s elite personal hit squad?
Slowly, I raised my hands. Lorenzo stepped back with a smirk in his eyes—I got you, motherfucker.Two steps brought me into the room. He closed the door behind me. I expected an immediate taser jolt, or an arm around my neck choking me into unconsciousness. No violence came.
“Where’s Chela?” I said. My voice was soft. I didn’t want to piss him off.
“Yeah, that’s a good question,” Lorenzo said. “Come on out here, Chela!” Lorenzo knew better than to take his eyes off me while he called over his shoulder. He was five feet away, too far to risk any kind of disarm motion.
I saw movement from the bedroom, and my heart withered.
Chela was wearing nothing but a pathetic string bikini, and even that was askew, as if she’d donned it in the dark. She was hugging herself, her face all scarlet shame and terror. “They made me call,” she whispered. She couldn’t look at me.
DeFranco appeared next from the bedroom, fully dressed but zipping up his fly. He offered me a grin, chewing his gum as he wrapped his arm around Chela. I saw how pink her bottom lip was; swollen. A tendril of blood crept from its corner.
An enraged scream welled up from my throat. Miraculously, I stuffed it back, but the sound still exploded in my head. I panted from the effort of not pouncing on DeFranco and beating that grin from his face as he hugged Chela beside him. It might have felt worse if she was my daughter, but I don’t see how.
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