She toweled sweat from her face and wiped the strands of hair that came free from the vigorous running. “I have a few errands to run so I figured I’d get an early start.”
She gently wiped her arms and made sure to have her breasts in full view for Wilson. She knew he craved to have her dark nipples in his mouth. When they were out to dinner, a play, a movie or shopping, she knew he didn’t care about some of the stares he got when he was seen with a black woman. All the racism was put on the back burner with the thought of indulging in the sweet nectar of someone as beautiful and sophisticated as Rochelle—the name Vanessa had given him when they met. She thought of how some white men yearned to slip their penis in the sweet folds of a black woman as fine as she, especially if it could be kept discreet. But the funny thing about Wilson, he actually liked Vanessa. Too bad she felt nothing but hatred toward him, and his turn was soon to come. But he wasn’t next on the list, a man named Joshua was. Wilson McCarran had no idea what she had planned for him. If he had, the man with two last names would have let this beauty pass. But it’s too late—time to let the games begin.
Jack was sitting on a stool glancing through the sports section of a Chicago Tribune someone had left on the table at a coffee shop on West 95th Street. It was a shop his dad used to take him to on Saturday mornings when he was young. The place is different now, keeping up with the fads of serving lattes, specialty coffees and various pastries for todays on the go generation. Jack can still remember when the Greeks owned the restaurant, until ten years ago. When Jack first got on the department and started working the beat in the patrol division, he stopped by the coffee shop to get breakfast. At the time, it was still called Niko’s Grill and run by the same man who’d served him plenty of times since he was a child. It was what his dad and all the hardworking men of the Chicago neighborhoods called ‘a greasy spoon’. Niko would have several items on the grill at once. Scraping and the clinking sounds of the ‘not so silver anymore’ metal spatula as he flipped sausage, bacon, pancakes, and eggs was music to the patron’s ears. White pants, shirt and apron that was clean but stained from heavy use, were what Niko wore every day. He was a man who knew all the regulars’ orders before they placed them. Jack and his dad’s favorite was a fried egg sandwich. That was two fried eggs, a slice of cheese, three slices of bacon and a little mayo in between two slices of toast. To top it off while they waited for their order, Jack’s dad would give him four quarters to play the Pac-man and Donkey Kong video game. Those were the days, Jack thought to himself as he watched Faye walk through the door with her hard stride and long black hair in a ponytail. He was surprised at how even in civvies she looked like a cop from a mile away. Don’t be mistaken, at the age of thirty-six, the tall woman was a stunner, but had ‘cop’ written all over her. It was Monday morning, and Jack wanted to meet at the coffee shop before they went into the office. They had worked the weekend so they didn’t have to be in at eight like the other detectives. If they wouldn’t have caught the homicide case over the weekend they would have had today off, but it was rare in Chicago to not catch a homicide over the weekend.
Faye placed her bag on the table for two. “So Jack, problems at home again?” she asked.
Jack looked at her with a raised eyebrow. He asked, “What makes you ask that?”
She smiled, “Well, let’s just say I was informed that this is the place you like to go to when things are on your mind.”
“Tell Angelo he talks too much,” Jack said of his former partner who also was Faye’s uncle. Angelo had retired with thirty-five years of service. He’d seen and done it all, and he was the one who broke Jack in at homicide. Before his retirement, he had a few strings pulled to get his oldest sister’s daughter into homicide and teamed up with Jack, a man he respected as a detective, and a man who he knew would take care of his niece.
“You know my uncle helped me get this position. One, because I’m a good cop, and two, to watch after his favorite cop.”
The waitress walked up.
“I’ll have a caramel cappuccino, half cream base and half coffee,” Faye said.
The waitress turned her attention to Jack, and he raised his palm to let the waitress know he was fine with the coffee he already had. She walked away. Jack asked Faye, “Speaking of Angelo, how’s he doing?”
“He’s fine. I’m supposed to go down to Sarasota to visit him. I’m going to soak up some of the Florida sun and get a good tan going,” she said as a smile warmed her angular face.
“You could use it,” Jack joked.
She stuck her middle finger up at her partner.
He added, “And I heard you when you asked ‘problems at home’? What makes you think it’s that?”
“Because you kept checking your phone and kept calling your wife this weekend. Remember during my second week with you, I told you about my problems with my marriage, and you told me about yours that is failing.”
“That’s right, we did have that conversation.”
Jack and Faye had got a lot of things out in the open the first week they were teamed together. It’s what partners do. Sometimes, two partnered detectives knew more about each other than their spouses did.
The waitress was back at their table. She placed the cappuccino on the table and left the two detectives alone. Faye sipped and nodded her head that the woman had made her drink correctly. She then stated, “Yeah, we did, and I’ve been noticing you doing the same thing I used to do when my marriage was going downhill, checking the phone constantly to see if your spouse called. Checking the time to see how late it is.” She shook her head from side to side as the memories of her husband’s infidelity crept into her mind. “That shit will drive a person crazy.”
Faye was an attractive Italian-American, a tall, shapely figure with jet-black hair. She had been married to her husband, David Miller, an executive and business owner, for ten years. He’s ten years her senior and what one would consider a ladies’ man. When they met the strikingly handsome man was really into Faye. She was twenty-six and fine, and he was in his mid-thirties. When he put what he considered a trophy on his arm to show off in front of all his executive co-workers at the ritzy functions he attended, he thought he was on top of the world. Faye had just started on the department, and the patrol division kept her busy working all types of shifts and left David plenty of time to cheat on his wife. He had women all over the city. That’s the way it is when you have money and his six figure salary definitely put him in the status of a moneymaker.
Faye rationalized that her husband was cheating on her because she was never there for him. The job took up most of her time, and through the years he mentally abused her and made her feel as if she couldn’t do any better. She knew that leaving her husband would change her lifestyle dramatically, and that was one of the holds he had on her. But one day when she got sick at work from some carry-out she’d eaten, she went home early to find her husband in their bed with a woman she was all too familiar with. Her first thought was to pull her Smith & Wesson from its holster and put 9mm rounds in the both of them, but decided it was better to give the two a choice—to receive a couple of shots from an angry wife or to leave the house while wearing nothing but their birthday suits. They chose the latter, and since that painful day, she and her husband have been separated.
Jack folded his newspaper and smiled when he saw that the Lakers had won the first round of the playoffs. Faye asked, “What is the smile for?”
“Lakers won.”
Faye frowned.
Jack laughed as he thumbed for the metro section to see if the murder they were working on had made the news. He asked, “Why do you always hate on Kobe Bryant?”
“I hate cheaters. He has a beautiful wife at home, and he had to go out and cheat on his wife, with a young girl at that.”
“At the time Kobe was young himself.”
“Whatever. And she’s a hillbilly.”
Jack laughed. It was funny to hear Faye, who is white, call another whit
e woman a hillbilly. “How are you going to call that woman a hillbilly? She’s from Colorado.”
Faye sipped her cappuccino then sarcastically blew her breath as she answered, “There’re hillbillies everywhere.”
“I guess, but don’t get mad at Kobe. Shit happens and besides, they say she had like a hundred different semen in her at the time, so it’s hard to say he raped her. You know, character flaw,” Jack laughed.
Tired of the conversation, Faye said, “I’m not talking about rape. Hell, I don’t think he raped her either. But I do know his ass was cheating on his wife, and that cost him money in endorsements and embarrassment for him and his wife. And what’s with you and that ‘shit happens stuff? Remember what might be going on with your spouse.”
That was a painful reminder. That fast, Jack had forgotten about the infidelity that’s going on right up under his own nose. He grunted and said, “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He paused, sipped on his coffee then stared at the cup as if it had the answer he was looking for.
Faye caught his hesitancy. “Look, I, of all people know how hard it is to talk about the type of situation that you are in. But for your sake and Tamia’s, you need to move on.”
Faye was speaking of Jack’s daughter, who he seemed to always have to find a sitter for when he got called out on a homicide, while his wife was busy in the streets. Nina was what you would call a functioning mother. She would do the necessary things that a mother has to do, like clothe and feed her child; take her to the doctor when she’s sick and other things of that nature. But when it came to the playing, reading of stories before bed, showing her daughter how to make cookies and other fun things in the kitchen, she didn’t have time or the patience. When Jack was at work, Tamia would sit and play with her toys in her room or watch her favorite show, Sponge Bob, by herself, while her mom gossiped on the phone with her girlfriends.
Jack’s sigh was heavy when he said, “I just don’t know what to do. I mean, I do know, but I just don’t think I can bring myself to file for a divorce. Tamia needs her mother.”
Faye hissed, “She needs a mother that’s going to be a mother. I mean, come on Jack, for God’s sake, what are we talking about here? The woman hasn’t been there for her family, and that’s what a freaking marriage is all about. Family. You’re thirty-eight, and that’s still young, so there is no need for you to sit around and wait on her ass because she’s out doing her thing. She feels as if she’s missing something and marriage isn’t it.”
“Hump. You got that right. Just a week ago she told me that she feels tied down. That the whole marriage and child thing has her feeling old. “‘I need to find myself’ is what she said.”
Faye couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She told Jack, “Well then, let her find herself. Go down to the courts and file for a divorce. That will give her time to find whatever the hell it is she needs to find.”
“What about Tamia?”
“Jack, whatever happens happens. It’s going to be either joint custody or you’ll get sole custody. But I tell you one thing.”
“What?” Jack asked as he looked into his partner’s brown eyes hoping that she had the answer he was looking for.
“Your child is going to love you and will always be with you. Shit, I guarantee Nina won’t fight for custody anyway.”
Jack realized what he had to do. File for divorce, fight for his daughter and raise her with as much love and care as he could. He didn’t have his mother or father around, but between his sister, grandmother and Faye, a support system was there. He thought of the old saying ‘A village to raise a child.’
He looked at his watch then stood as he placed a ten and a five on the table to cover the coffee, cappuccino and tip. “You’re right. I’m going to go file tomorrow.” They walked away from the table. When they got to the front door, Jack placed his hand on the handle and before opening it to step outside, he looked at his partner with a smirk on his face. He told her, “You know she hasn’t been home for a couple of nights and hasn’t called to check on her daughter.”
Not waiting for Jack, Faye smiled and pushed the door open and walked out into the seventy-six degree morning weather. There were people walking up and down the streets waiting on cabs, busses and heading for the elevated train. Faye patted her partner’s strong shoulders and whispered, “File the papers.”
Andrea was walking back to her desk. She had gone downstairs to the vending machine to find something sweet to go with the coffee she’d fixed. It was 11:30p.m. and she’d only been at work for thirty minutes. She had been up most of the day and with only four hours of sleep, she was already hurting. She didn’t mind working the graveyard shift. There were only a couple of other people working. Victor, a Hispanic in his early thirties who thought he was God’s gift to women, and a white lady in her forties, who looked well beyond the years stated on her driver’s license. Andrea rarely saw the two because they were usually in the woman’s office doing God knows what when they weren’t working. But hey, Andrea didn’t care; it left her time to chat on her cell and work on a novel she had been mulling over for the past couple of years. Another thing Andrea liked about her shift was that she could wear just about whatever she wanted as long as it wasn’t crazy or have any offensive words on it. Tonight, she had on a pair of faded jeans, some old school blue Pumas and a blue t-shirt that had Make Love Not War printed across the chest.
Andrea passed by Victor’s desk. Before she could speak, he spoke, “’Drea, I see you like them sweets. Yous about a fine size six and I’d say a thirty-six there up top. Years of them Honey Buns will catch up with you. I’ve seen too many fine women come through here and end up packing on the weight by chomping on them sweets at night.”
Andrea wanted to say, like that overweight beat writer who will be here at midnight, but decided to smile and say, “Thanks for the advice.” She sat at her desk and tore open the Honey Bun. She then said, “And Victor, they are thirty-fours!”
He checked to make sure that his Honey Bun wasn’t walking through the door and said, “Must be D-cups.”
They shared a laugh, then he got back to work so he could finish early, barring any stories he had to chase.
Andrea took a bite of the pastry, then sipped her coffee. The sugar and caffeine rush was welcome. She typed on a story she’d received about a man who’d been robbing elderly women in grocery store parking lots. It was a boring story, and she’d finished it in less than an hour, then forwarded it to the editor. Once she did that, she got her next story ready to work on. She decided that she would finish it in a couple of hours. She was straightening her desk when she came across Detective Yancey’s card. She toyed with it and thought about how attractive and masculine he was. She smiled at the thought of how he looked when he was interviewing her. She was a woman and knew the look, the look of interest, and the detective had it written all over his face. Hell, even his partner noticed, and Andrea could tell she didn’t like it. She wondered if the two detectives were sleeping with each other, but quickly dismissed the thought, thinking that maybe Detective Yancey was the type of man who honored his vows. She’d noticed the wedding band on his finger and was quite disappointed. She was attracted to the man and had yearned for a relationship. She was smart, sexy, hard working, very nice and outgoing, but found it hard to find someone to share a life with. Sure, she could go out on dates and all of that, but she yearned for a relationship with a real man and not the clowns that she’d been running into lately. She glanced at the detective’s card one last time, then dropped it into her purse, just in case she was at home and got the nerve to call.
The door to the office opened and in walked Rebecca, Victor’s at work recreation. “Hey Andrea, how’s everything going?” she asked as she walked toward her desk that was three cubicles away.
“Just fine, got a few things I’m working on, but so far the night is slow.”
Rebecca set her tote bag on her desk and started emptying it of its contents; no
tepad, notebook and a folder full of papers. She then took out a Tupperware bowl that consisted of Greenleaf lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, croutons and a tube of fat-free ranch salad dressing. She had gained a lot of weight. She wasn’t grossly overweight, but the extra pounds had her self-conscious. She was also trying to keep up with her over a decade younger lover. Victor would always tell her that she looked fine, and he liked the extra pounds on her. She liked that in him, but her reason for losing the weight was to make herself feel good and that was the right thinking, because the player in Victor had him telling her how well she looked to keep her from losing weight, fearing that she’d be noticed by other men.
Rebecca walked over to Andrea as she scanned the huge open office. Andrea noticed, and when Rebecca sat on the edge of Andrea’s desk, something she always did and Andrea hated it, Andrea told her, “He’s down in the cafeteria.”
Trying to act surprised as if she wasn’t curious where her midnight snack was, she laughed lightly then said, “I wasn’t looking for Victor. I was looking around at how empty it is here in the office at night since they’ve made cutbacks.”
Andrea smirked, and before she could say anything, Rebecca quickly added, “So, have you heard anything about that one story? You know the one where the woman called you the other night. Did the police say if they think she could be a serial killer, or is she just some nut case who killed someone and called the paper for publicity?”
Andrea paused to see if Rebecca’s battery of questions were over. She hunched her shoulders nonchalantly and answered, “Not a word from the caller or the police.”
Rebecca hopped off the desk. She’d noticed Victor walking in the office. She smoothed her skirt with the palms of her hands and adjusted the form fitting white blouse. “Well, that’s too bad. That would have been a good come up story for you if it had been some type of serial killer. But it was just a week ago. Never know.”
The Corner II Page 28