by Carl Weber
“Hell no, I ain’t got no woman! You ain’t got no man, do you?”
“No, I swear I’m single.”
“That’s good, ’cause you got some good damn pussy, but it ain’t worth fighting over.” I was dead serious, but for some reason she started to laugh.
“Well, for the record, good dick is hard to come by, so I might have fought for you.” This time it was me cracking up. It was good to finally meet a woman with a sense of humor. I was really starting to like Tanya.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“Dammit! Let me go see who the fuck this.” I hopped up and threw on my boxers.
As I walked out my first floor bedroom, I winked at Tanya, who was covering herself with my shirt. I wasn’t sure who was at the door, but I was gonna get rid of their asses and get back to her quick.
When I got to the front door, Niles was coming down the stairs in his briefs.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged then hollered through the door, “Who is it?” Nobody ever came to this door at this time of night, so I was really hoping like hell it wasn’t something to do with my sister. I just wanted to get back to fucking the hell out of Tanya, and I was not happy about this interruption.
“Open the door! It’s the police!” a masculine voice ordered.
“What the fuck are the police doing here?” I turned to Niles, who looked just as confused as I was. Turning back to the door, I pulled the shade to the side and saw six uniformed officers. I opened the door immediately, because these Suffolk County motherfuckers had no problem knocking it down, and I was not about to give them just cause.
The first officer through the door, a burly, bald-headed fucker came at me, gun in hand. “You Niles Monroe?” he demanded, raising his gun so it was pointing dead center in my chest. Man, I’d already had my fill of cops pointing guns at me that day. The other cops just stood in the doorway, scowling and blocking our exit.
“Hell, no. Not me. I’m not Niles,” I shot back, shaking my head. I glanced over at my nephew, standing two steps below Keisha, who was draped in his sheets, looking wild-eyed and scared.
“I’m Niles Monroe, Officer. What seems to be the problem?”
Niles had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when the cop with the gun in my face turned it on him. His fellow officers tackled my nephew.
“Niles, don’t resist,” I pleaded as the cops pinned him to the ground and put him in handcuffs. This had to be some type of misunderstanding, but one wrong move and this could have turned into Ferguson, Missouri.
“What the hell is this all about?” Niles asked amidst the confusion.
“It’s about murder,” a barrel-chested detective announced as he walked in the house. “Make sure you read him his rights, boys. We got this one dead to rights.”
“Murder?” I repeated, feeling like someone had punched me in the gut. I listened to them Mirandize my nephew, who was the closest thing I had to a little brother. Niles looked stunned, too, as they lifted him off the floor.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Niles protested as they jerked him around roughly.
“Tell it to the three guys in the morgue,” the detective answered.
I turned to Niles. “Don’t say shit until you have a lawyer.” The last thing I wanted was for him to wind up another statistic.
“Can I get my shoes?” Niles motioned toward his Jordans that were parked next to the front door.
“I got ’em.” The detective picked them up as they perp-walked my nephew out of the house.
“Shit! What the fuck was that?” Tanya’s voice reflected the shock and horror we all felt in that moment.
Keisha came over to me. “He didn’t really kill anybody, did he?”
“I sure as hell hope not,” I answered, but truthfully, I didn’t know.
Niles
12
“Darius Thompson, Rodney Moss, and Shakim Paul. Those names mean anything to you?” Detective Fuller, the cop who had arrested me, pelted me with the names. He was sitting in a chair across from me, waiting for an answer.
I’d been in the interrogation room for the better part of an hour when he finally walked in carrying a manila envelope.
“Nope. Can’t say that they do.” I stared straight at the wall above his head.
“Why don’t you make it easy on yourself by telling me the truth? We know you did it.” He leaned across the metal table to look me in the eye, as if that would convince me to change my story.
“I told you, I’m innocent. How many times I gotta tell you that?”
“You do understand that you’re in a whole lot of trouble.”
I was starting to feel like I was banging my head against a wall. “Look, this is just a big misunderstanding. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Oh, yeah. Were you at Sugar’s Bar and Grill last night?” he asked.
“Yes, I was, but—” I was prepared to explain myself, but he cut me off.
“So you’re trying to tell me that you didn’t have an altercation with any guys last night?” Fuller cracked open the manila envelope in front of him, took out three photos, and laid them down on the table so that they were facing me. “Recognize these guys?”
I looked down at the pictures of Rodney and his two friends. Or rather, their corpses.
“I asked you a question. Do you know these men?” He pierced me with a stare that felt like he fully expected me to lie to him.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “That’s Rodney and his friends.”
“And how exactly do you know Rodney and his friends?” he asked.
“They were being disrespectful to a lady friend of mine at the bar last night. I took them outside and taught them some respe—” I stopped myself before I said anything incriminating, but, of course, he’d noticed.
“But you showed them.” He smiled, nodding his head up and down like we were sharing some kind of secret.
I looked down at the pictures again. “No. Yes. I mean, it wasn’t like that.”
“So, Niles, why don’t you tell me what it’s like? ’Cause I have three dead bodies and you were the last person to see any of them alive.”
“Obviously I wasn’t the last person to see them alive, ’cause I didn’t kill them,” I countered, my head starting to spin.
Someone tapped at the door before opening it. A young officer approached Fuller and set a Ziploc bag down on the table between us.
“You wanted this after it was logged into evidence.”
“Thanks, Officer.” Fuller acknowledged the cop before he turned and left. He picked up the package in his hand, gripping it so that I could see the outline of a gun.
“Any idea where this came from?”
“It’s Rodney’s.” I couldn’t believe I’d been stupid enough to leave the gun behind after our fight.
“What if I told you that it was the murder weapon?” I could feel the detective watching me, weighing my reaction, but I wasn’t about to give him what he wanted. I showed no response. “Are we going to find your prints on this gun, Niles? ’Cause once CSI wipes it for prints, I won’t be able to help you.”
“I swear I didn’t do this. Yeah, I took the gun from Rodney, but I threw it in the Dumpster. I didn’t use it.” Deep inside of me, I was shaking, but my military training had taught me how to remain calm if captured by the enemy, and from where I was sitting, this was the enemy.
“So you didn’t do anything to them?”
“Sure, I roughed them up a little, but they were alive the last time I saw them. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“They look a little more than roughed up to me,” he said, reaching down and picking up the photos to study them. “Look, I know these guys. Especially this piece of shit Rodney. There could be real repercussions to you killing him. He has more connects inside the prison system than he does outside.”
He spoke like he actually gave a shit, but I knew that it was all just an act to lower my defenses. I sat
there, staring at the detective, seeing my life spiraling down right in front of me.
“I didn’t kill nobody!” I shouted, tired of being blamed for something this heinous. I’d only been back a day and half, and the threat that I was experiencing was as real as anything I had dealt with in a war zone.
“The evidence says otherwise,” Fuller shot back.
I dropped my head into my hands, exhausted, with my defense falling onto deaf ears.
Bridget
13
When I opened the door I saw him, half asleep, exhausted but still defiant, sitting at that interrogation table. It almost made me chuckle the way these bare rooms were made to insure the highest amount of intimidation and the least amount of comfort. They were so archaic and barbaric that it was impossible to get comfortable; but, of course, that would defeat the purpose. I knew that he had been there for the better part of six hours as they grilled him mercilessly about the murders.
“Niles,” I spoke, gently waking him.
His eyes were cast downward toward the floor, and I could feel them on me as he worked his way from my high black Louboutins, up my leg to the skintight pencil skirt and tight blouse I wore, until he arrived at my face.
“So we meet again,” I said.
“You!” he spat out the words, leaving no doubt how he felt about my presence in that room. His dislike for me almost rose up in waves, as his nostrils flared open.
“Yes, Mr. Monroe. It’s me.”
“What are you doing here?” He seethed, watching me now, fully awake and fully alert. He glanced around the stark room, no doubt wondering how I had gotten into the room, especially without the detective being present. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He tensed up, studying me silently as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.
“You did this, didn’t you? You set me up.” His rage was palpable, and if I were anywhere else, I would have actually worried about being alone with him at this moment; but I knew that he was smart. Too smart to take any chances. The fact that he was handcuffed to the table didn’t hurt either.
“I can see why you would think that, because I am a woman accustomed to getting what I want, but let’s just assume that I didn’t have anything to do with your being here.”
“So you’re saying you want me to work for you bad enough to murder three men? How sick is that?” he asked, ignoring my comment.
“I’m not admitting to anything. Truth is, like the police, I believe you did it; but unlike them, I think you’ve done the world a huge favor. I read their police jackets, and they were trash.” I moved to the chair across from him and sat down.
“I’m not talking to you anymore, so please leave.” He glared at me.
“Niles, I’m not so sure that you understand. I’m the only friend you have at this moment.”
“You are no friend of mine, so leave!” he fumed, gritting his teeth.
I turned to look at the door and then back at his angry face. “If I do what you want and get up and walk out that door, what do you think would happen to you? Who is going to believe that you are innocent? A discharged special forces soldier just back from the war, angry at the world, and pissed off about a girl?” I waited as the truth of my words sank in. The defeat was immediate. His shoulders deflated and he stared down at the floor. “If I walk out of this building, they’re going to lock you up for a very long time.”
“So I’m fucked!” he spat out.
“Not necessarily. I can get you out of here. I know a lot of people in very important places, and lucky for you that could work to your benefit. I mean, if you are willing to strike up a friendship with me, I can make this entire nightmare disappear.”
I waited and watched as the Niles Monroe I had met in the hallway a day earlier returned. His chest puffed out. He was in control, and he was mad.
“Oh, now I get it.”
“And what exactly do you get?” I pushed, wanting him to spell it out.
“That you want me to be your bitch. That me turning down your offer and walking away pulled your lace panties into a bunch and made you even more ruthless than I imagined you were yesterday. That you, Ms. Saint John, are the definition of a first class bitch.” He sat back, watching to see how his words had affected me.
I smiled. “I’ve been called worse. In fact, I’ve been called a lot worse just today. But you still have not given me your answer,” I reminded him, ignoring all the emotional gymnastics. People hated to be cornered, and he was no different. It was a shame that he was so furious, but I intended to use that same aggression and anger that he was directing at me, and make it work for me.
“I’m not doing it! If I have to spend the rest of my life in jail then so be it. I’m not letting you bully me into something I don’t want to do.” He fumed in his anger, but I was past the point of worrying about that. For Niles Monroe, I had become the lesser of two evils. I knew it, and so did he. It was only a matter of time before he accepted his fate.
I decided to try a different approach. “And what about your mother? She’s bipolar, isn’t she? In need of constant care,” I reminded him in my matter-of-fact way.
At first he seemed surprised, but that disappeared quickly.
“She’s in a state-run hospital right now, right?”
“Of course you know about my mother. You and your organization have done your homework. Find the vulnerabilities first. Got it. Bravo!” he announced without the slightest hint of celebration. Yeah, this guy was saying and doing everything that I would have had I been in his position.
“This job will provide you with the ability to make sure that your mother is in a first-class facility, with doctors who know her and state-of-the-art treatments and comfort, not this state-run, low-rent situation she’s in now.”
I hoped learning that he would now be able to provide for his mother would lessen the defeat. Obviously, she’d come off her meds, had a psychotic break, and had been hospitalized again. From the police reports, she’d been hallucinating and pulled a knife on two law enforcement officers.
“So this is about my mother? Wow. That is low, but not any lower than you setting me up in order to get me to come work for you.”
“Niles, I am a businesswoman, and I only want what is best for my business. From where I’m sitting, this arrangement will be a win-win for both of us,” I informed him. Hell, I knew he was pissed, but emotions were just a waste of time in the work that we performed, and I only hoped he’d be able to set his feelings aside and do the job. “So, do I make the call and have this all go away, or would you like to stick to your self-righteous anger?” I asked.
He glanced from me to the door, then back at me. While I waited for his answer, I only hoped he was as smart as everyone had led me to believe.
Majestic
14
After two days of being forced to wear that scratchy-ass prison-issued orange jumpsuit, it felt damn good to be on fleek again in my dark blue Hugo Boss suit, starched white Armani shirt, and sterling silver Gucci loafers as I headed to my bail hearing. They’d let my man Bruce out yesterday on an R.O.R—release on your own recognizance—trying to give me the impression that he had snitched on me, but Bruce was smart enough to get the word to Andrew Goldman, my pit-bull attorney, so I wouldn’t accuse him of any bullshit.
Once inside the courtroom, I turned toward the back of the room, but all I saw were a whole lot of strangers. Not one familiar face separated itself from the throng of onlookers crowded into those four rows of hard wooden benches. They were all waiting for other cases. No one was here for mine. Where the fuck was Bruce, my mother, and my baby mama?
“What the fuck! Where is everybody?” I griped under my breath at Goldman, who was about to either earn his extravagant hourly fee or my wrath. It felt good to be out from behind bars, but I needed to know that freedom wasn’t some pipe dream.
“I don’t know. I called Bruce last night to tell him about the hearing, but he seemed a little preoccupied. I’m
sure he’ll be here,” Goldman replied.
Hell, it was his job to make sure that shit ran smoothly. He should have made sure my people had their asses in that front row, no questions asked. In his defense, though, I hadn’t even expected to be standing in this courtroom before my trial got underway. Originally I thought I would be released within twelve hours, like Bruce had, but then twelve hours stretched into two days. That was when I found out I was going to have to attend a bail hearing. They had sprung that little gem on me late last night.
“He better be here,” I muttered.
“Majestic, keep it down.” Goldman motioned to the black female judge named Ellen McDougall seated on the bench, reading through the paperwork he’d given her. I was familiar with her, and I knew she didn’t play. His warning reminded me that this wasn’t the world I controlled, but one in which I needed to appear redeemable.
“You think this is really going to work?” I whispered to Goldman, who smiled and nodded his head.
I glanced over at John Hightower, the prosecuting attorney. The frown on Hightower’s face suddenly had me feeling a little cocky. The guy looked like his shirt had been buttoned up a little too tightly, which told me he wasn’t feeling all too confident about his case against me.
When he noticed me looking at him, he glared openly, but I couldn’t be mad because we would always be on opposite sides, like cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians, and as long as I was on the winning team, life was good. If that cheap-ass Men’s Wearhouse discount suit was all he could afford for his hard work, then I had definitely chosen the right career.
“Gentlemen.” Judge McDougall finally put down the paperwork and addressed the lawyers. “After reading Mr. Goldman’s motion, I’m going to need the prosecutor’s office to provide a witness to corroborate this evidence,” she advised.
Hightower’s face turned crimson. He looked ready to blow. “Our witness has disappeared, Your Honor, and the other witnesses we have refuse to come forward in fear for their lives and the lives of their family members. You see, Mr. Moss is not only a murderer, but—”