“Oh, yes,” Cindy said, sliding her knife through her steak. “This is the girl who likes it rough.”
“I don’t know if that’s really true. But this guy she was with sure did a number on her.”
Cindy waited to speak until she finished chewing. She was beautiful in her navy blue power suit and Hannibal briefly wondered how many she owned. She wore her hair up that day, but by six o’clock a few locks always shook themselves loose from captivity. When she looked up, she seemed surprised to find him hanging on her words.
“You make her sound like a victim, and maybe she is. But trust me, my gallant knight, there are plenty of women out there just waiting for a man to come along and hand them just what you described this Rod character did. There’s a market for muy macho hombres with plenty of machismo.”
That doesn’t justify it, he thought. Aloud he said. “Weak women.”
“Maybe just different tastes.” She pointed at him with her fork. “You are so limited in your view of humanity. And judgmental.”
The juices filling his mouth as his teeth pushed through the black crust surrounding rare meat numbed Hannibal to what could be an insult.
“Well, no man could ever do that to you, right?”
“Oh, hell no,” Cindy said, adding her lilting laugh. “Some man came at me with all that master shit, I’d have to stab him in his sleep.” She put her fork down beside her plate, placing her fingers together in front of her face. “But then again…”
“Then again what?”
“Well, you know, as play,” she said, her eyes wandering out the window behind Hannibal, reflecting the night-lights on Independence Avenue. “I mean, don’t you ever think about, you know.”
“Not sure I do know, babe.”
Cindy dug into her baked potato. “Well, like, being tied to the bedposts with silk scarves. That kind of thing sometimes does sound a little exciting.”
“Right, and I’m sure you’re just waiting for a man to tie you down and beat you.”
“Well, hold up a minute,” Cindy said, warming to her subject. “Think about it. There’s a world of difference between a beating and a spanking, isn’t there?”
“Okay, change of subject.” When her eyebrows rose he said, “I am not comfortable talking about that stuff with you. I know we’ll both be working tomorrow, but where would you like to go tonight?”
Cindy’s eyes went down to her plate. “Sorry sugar, I can’t go out partying tonight.”
He slid his hand across the tablecloth to take hers. “Worn out, hon? I know it’s been a long day. Why don’t we just pick up a nice bottle of wine and go back to my place?”
“No, you don’t understand, baby. I’ve spent so much time on the DPO that my other cases have gone by the boards. I need to get back to the office for a few more hours.”
“Excuse me?”
Cindy’s shoulders dropped. “I am so tired. But at that firm, anybody who’s not putting in ninety hours every week just isn’t going to move up. And then you have stuff like this cocktail party we’re all expected to be at tomorrow night. It just gets to be too much. Damn it. They think they own you. They think four hundred grand per entitles them to your whole life. And you know what? They’re right. They own me.”
Hannibal shook slightly, as if an unexpected glass of ice water had been thrown into his face. Was it a slip, or a jab? He had never put an actual number next to Cindy’s income in his mind. That casual comment seemed to force a shift in his world. She wasn’t his girl anymore. He was hers. He was the helper, the junior partner in their relationship. At that moment he remembered the ring he still carried in his pocket every day, waiting for the right moment to make his claim on her future. The ring felt far heavier now. Maybe he should wait for her to propose to him.
Right behind that thought her later words pushed through. They own me, she said. The firm came first. The money not only made her the natural alpha in their relationship, it made her firm her first priority. They took precedence. He was hers, and she was theirs.
“Fuck that.”
Cindy’s head snapped back, her eyes wide. He realized he was squeezing her hand harder than he had intended. And the couple at the next table looked over at him, and then quickly looked away. He had been a bit louder than he had intended too.
“Hannibal? What’s wrong?”
“You tell me. Is Baylor, Truman and Ray more important than me? Than us?”
“Of course not,” she said. “That’s not what I meant.” But he noted the second of hesitation before her statement.
“All right then, let’s go,” Hannibal said. “We haven’t had enough alone time lately.”
The drive back to Anacostia was much quieter than usual, at least in terms of conversation. Hannibal turned the stereo up louder than he generally did when she was aboard and played music he had never played before with Cindy in the car. He didn’t know if Cindy had ever heard of Def Leppard, and didn’t really care. She sat in silence against the passenger door while he drummed on the steering wheel and sang along to “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
He parked in his unofficial designated space in front of his building and walked around to help Cindy out of the car. She squeezed his hand as he walked her up the outside steps, unlocked the hall door, and marched down the hall to his own apartment door. He was just turning the knob when she finally spoke.
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“The crazy hours you work?” Hannibal asked, guiding her through the living room toward the kitchen. He needed to pop that bottle of wine. She spoke again before he could reach the light switch.
“My income. I never knew. I never thought.”
Hannibal turned and pressed his face very close to hers in the darkness, aware that his breathing had gotten heavy. “This is not about money.”
Cindy found his light eyes in the darkness. Her respiration rate was up as well, he noticed, her breasts rising to brush against his chest. “Really. Just what is this about? The precious male ego?”
“Don’t push me, Cindy.”
She pushed.
He pushed back.
-9-
SATURDAY
Hannibal drove the white Volvo very slowly through Marquita’s neighborhood, dodging kids who were chasing basketballs they’d thrown through driveway hoops. It was a quiet area on a Saturday morning, looking too much like a television sitcom neighborhood for his tastes. Cindy was again slumped against her door, but this time she wore a soft smile and her eyes closed. Hannibal’s fingers drummed lightly on the wheel, keeping time to a George Duke tune called “Love Has No Rhyme, No Reason.” He knew the truth of that.
“Listen, thanks again for agreeing to talk to Marquita,” Hannibal said. “I know you’ve got your own giant load of work, but she can’t really focus and she’s got financial matters that have to be straightened out.”
“I’m happy to help, Hannibal, you know that.”
She looked so serene with the sun adding an extra glow to her smooth, golden complexion. He hated to say anything, but he couldn’t just let it lie. He had to go there.
“Listen, about what happened last night, I wanted to…”
Cindy snapped up as if pulled by a string, thrusting a finger at his face. “Don’t you dare apologize for last night. It was you, and it was real.” More softly she added, “And, it was fun.”
“I just don’t want you to think I’m one of those guys who…”
Cindy turned toward him, resting a hand on his thigh. “Baby, please. You are the kindest, gentlest, most considerate lover on this earth. But every once in a while, a girl wants her man to just bend her over the kitchen table and give it to her like he really means it.”
“Jesus, Cindy!”
“Why, I believe you’re blushing, my gallant prude,” Cindy said, flicking his nose with a fingertip. “Seriously, it’s good sometimes to know that I turn you on so much that you just really need it.”
They rode in silence for a long m
inute. Hannibal finally broke the quiet, thinking aloud.
“I just don’t understand how a woman can let herself be treated the way Anita and Marquita were.”
Staring out her window, Cindy said, “Do some research. It would really help you understand this case better.”
“What do you suggest? Should I look in the library under sicko?”
“Try the internet, darling,” Cindy said. “There’s a whole subculture hanging out in chat rooms, doing in cyber space what they’d be afraid to do in public. Spend some time in a BDSM room. It will really open your eyes.”
“A beady what?”
“BDSM,” she said more slowly. “It stands for bondage, domination, submission and masochism. I think. Actually, I think the D might be for discipline, and the S could stand for sadism. Anyway, the acronym is what you’ll hear most. Either way, lurking in those chat rooms might give you some insight into these girls, and this guy you’re after. And who knows. You might even get turned on.” She gave him that impish grin she used whenever she teased him.
Hannibal turned the wheel a bit more sharply than necessary, shaking Cindy to the other side of the car as he pulled into Marquita’s driveway.
He was halfway to the door when he turned to see Cindy trailing the nails of her left hand along the Tornado’s hood. She looked up and Hannibal wondered if she could tell that he could feel her nails on his spine.
“You know, it’s time for you to get a new car,” she said with a sweet smile. “Something different.” He knew she said it just to annoy him.
Inside, Sarge greeted Hannibal with a handshake and Cindy with a brief hug. Then he steered them into the sitting room. The drapes were pulled back, allowing sunlight to fill the room. The house smelled clean now, not the antiseptic Lysol odor of the process but the freshness that results. The quiet was no long oppressive, and when it was broken Hannibal greeted another change.
“Good morning, Hannibal,” Marquita said, smiling. She was sitting on her sofa in a terrycloth robe and fuzzy slippers, one foot curled beneath her. Her skin, maybe a half tone lighter than Cindy’s, shone like just-polished Brazilian Agate. She had washed and brushed her blonde hair into a gentle wave, revealing a half-inch of light brown roots at her scalp.
“Marquita, you look so much better,” Hannibal said. “Whatever that old doctor’s doing, it’s working.”
“Thank you,” Marquita said with a soft smile, “but really it’s all what my dear Archie is doing. I’m still not myself, but getting there. Now, who is your friend?”
Hannibal took Cindy’s hand and walked her over to Marquita. “Marquita LaPage, this is Cindy Santiago. Cindy is my,” a pause while he stumbled over the right label, “my lady. She’s also a lawyer and a very smart woman.”
Cindy took Marquita’s hand. “I’d like to help if it’s okay with you. I know sometimes when people have troubles, their finances don’t get the attention they should.”
Marquita’s eyes turned away in embarrassment, but came quickly back to Cindy’s. “I’m having a hard time keeping my mind on things these days, and even the tiniest decision seems to be too much for me. In truth, my affairs are a mess right now.”
“Well I specialize in straightening out those messes.”
“You have a kind face,” Marquita said. “For a lawyer, I mean.” Cindy grinned. “Oh no,” Marquita rushed to say, covering her mouth. “I didn’t mean it that way. Oh, mon Deux.”
“It’s okay.” Cindy shook with inner laughter. “I know exactly what you meant, and I take it as a compliment.”
“But you are so kind to offer to help me,” Marquita said. “Just like Hannibal. I am a stranger to you. Why? Hannibal, why are you being so helpful?”
A short silence hung in the room, and Sarge rushed into it. “He’s chasing the guy.”
“Rod?” A visible shiver scampered like a rat down her spine.
“I’m trying to help another of his victims, remember?” Hannibal said. “This other woman, Anita, he moved in on her just like he did you.”
Marquita looked into the carpet. “Dommage. I know what he does to us women. Did he take much of her money too?”
“Actually, he took something much more important to her. I’m not certain but I think it’s medical information of some sort that her father left her. Maybe something she could patent. Could be worth a fortune.”
He was largely talking to himself, still putting it all together, so he was startled when Marquita held her arm out, hand fluttering up and down like a schoolgirl anxious to answer the teacher’s question. “Like a formula?”
“Well, maybe.”
“Then I may have seen this prize.”
The air out on the deck was still and dry. The sun sliced into them like an x-ray and Hannibal worried if Marquita’s pallid skin might burn in minutes. But this was where she wanted to be, so he pulled off his gloves, folded his jacket over the back of his chair, and sipped his iced tea while she stared into the woods beyond her property, and stared into the past. Hannibal, Sarge and Cindy waited in their Adirondack chairs while Marquita traveled back to a worse time.
“Rod had rented a beach house up at Ocean City. He took me there a couple of times. Never alone, you understand. This particular time there were two other men there and three other girls. There were a lot of rooms, and couples would wander off in different combinations from time to time. Rod seemed to like being the ringmaster in that sort of circus. The men they would always try to think of something they hadn’t made you do before. Like they were testing how far they could make us go.”
Hannibal could see the setting in Marquita’s face, as if she really was back in that beach house, reduced to property by the animals in Rod Mantooth’s circus. He felt Cindy squeezing his hand hard, but kept his eyes on Marquita.
“The other girls. Was one of them a sister? Did you hear the name Anita?”
“No,” Marquita said. “Always white girls. I was always the darkest, like the spice added to the recipe. Except for one time. There was this one, Mariah I think her name was. Polynesian, maybe, or Asian in some way. She was real trouble. Always anxious to go off with the men, wanting to push them as far as they pushed us. And too curious. That’s why I remember.”
“What did she do?” Sarge asked. He sat very close to Marquita, leaning in. From time to time his big hand would move toward hers, but he would hesitate as if he feared she might break if he touched her.
“There was this room. No one was allowed in there. He said he kept his money and his important papers in there. But she didn’t listen. So this one time I was in the kitchen getting more beer. I drank a lot that weekend, didn’t I? Anyway, I heard Rod shouting and I ran to see what it was about. The girl, she had gone into his special room. There was a computer, and I guess she liked computers or something. Anyway she was standing with one of the round discs, like a CD in her hand.”
“A CD-Rom,” Hannibal muttered to himself.
“Yes. It was this little golden disc. And he asked her what she was doing, or something like that, and she sort of shrugged her shoulders. He shouted that the disc could be worth ten times what she was worth. And then. Then he slapped her. God, it lifted her right off the floor and that disc spun across the room and slid almost to my feet. I looked down and there was a white label and it said “formulas.” Or maybe it was “formulae,” you know, with an e.”
Hannibal took another long sip from his tea. It was very sweet and so cold it hurt his teeth. “What happened to the girl?”
Marquita looked up. “You don’t really understand how it works, do you? He ordered her to her knees and she knelt. He ordered her to put her face on the cold hardwood floor. She screamed that she was sorry and begged him to forgive her. She was already crying when he pulled off his belt. I didn’t stay around to watch.”
Marquita probably didn’t even notice that she was crying too, but Sarge did. Silent tears left tracks down her fast-drying cheeks, and she seems oblivious to the others. Sarge used a f
inger to wipe the water from one side of her face. Hannibal stood slowly, eased down the steps to the patio, and began to wander into the yard. When he felt the pressure easing around his chest, he noticed that he was followed.
“It’s hard for you to hear, isn’t it?” Cindy asked, just as they reached the tree line of the narrow wooded area separating them from the next yard.
“Last night,” Hannibal said.
“Not even!” Cindy said, turning him to face her.
“I seen it when I was little,” Hannibal said. “Soldiers who thought their foreign born wives were just kids or slaves or something. And now this guy. I just don’t want to be him.”
“You could never be him.”
“Last night,” Hannibal repeated.
Cindy’s laugh was one sharp snort. “Well hell, if you’re going to be extreme about this, then it’s your whole race.”
Hannibal’s eyes widened. “You mean blacks?”
“I mean men. Every man is him in some small way. It’s just a matter of degree.”
Hannibal stepped forward onto last year’s dry leaves beneath the verdant canopy. “Maybe. I know I’ve seen Sarge mean. But now I see him gentle as a lamb with Marquita. How do you figure them coming together, huh? Kind of like a fairy tale. The bouncer and the princess.”
“Maybe they’re just destined to be together,” Cindy said, following her man into the thin shade. “Don’t you believe in fate?”
“You mean like kismet? Destiny? What will be will be?” Hannibal thought for a moment. “I believe if I step into empty space I’m destined to fall. I think it’s pretty much up to me whether or not I take that step.”
“Really? Well, master of your own fate, what’s your next step to finding this Rod character?”
Hannibal turned away, hands on hips, head shaking. “I’ve got to find out if Anita lost a disc with something valuable on it. Was her dad stealing formulas from Isermann –Börner? And I’ve got to find those guys he worked with. Such pretentious names. Brendon Hathaway. Elliot Gaye.”
Damaged Goods Page 10