Triple Threat

by Camryn King

  “’Bout time you got here!”

  “What’s up? Watch the right, boy, watch the right!” Christian knew a brace wasn’t enough protection against his heavy-handed friend’s bear hug. He leaned in with his left shoulder. Ethan grabbed him around the waist, lifted him off the floor.

  “Glad you made it, man. Didn’t have to hurt your shoulder to get out of a game, but way to let a brothah know that you care.”

  “I’ma care about that cigar smoke in my face.” Christian stepped back, smirking at Ethan while accepting a flute of champagne from a scantily clad waitress. “Look at you, the big three-oh. Up here looking like a dark Suge Knight.”

  Those who heard the dig laughed.

  “Fuck you.” Ethan slid back into his center position. “You wish you could rock this shit.”

  “No, I wish I could toss that shit. Right into the nearest Goodwill bin, muthafucka.”

  Christian had slid into street slang without thought, easily straddling the two worlds he’d grown up in—the proper, elite milieu of his father and the world his mother had adopted and now ruled, and the survival-of-the-fittest community where she’d been raised, and where Christian’s cousins still lived. Rebecca Collins Graham could hobnob with the richest and ritziest, but one should not be foolish enough to cross her, because her North Philly roots ran deep. Childhood vacations spent there with his cousins gave Christian the balanced view of the world he’d need growing up as a mixed kid in America, between cultures that were often at odds. He’d eventually grown comfortable in his skin, but being Christian Graham had not always been as easy as it now looked.

  Two guys next to Ethan moved over so that long-legged Christian could be on the end. “What up, Treasure? What up, Bink?” He inhaled and wrinkled his nose. “Oh, I see what’s up with you. I’m liable to get a contact just sitting next to your weed-head ass. Trade places with him, Trey-Z. Damn!”

  The joshing continued as others in the VIP area, including a well-known rapper and his reality-star wife, a Wall Street wonder and his gay lover, a few trust fund titans, and a few actors all came over to pay their respects. Several beauties sashayed past him, flirty, hopeful. The booth to the right of them was filled with beautiful women, including a well-known porn star and a half-dressed socialite openly snorting coke from off the lacquered table. Christian took it all in, switching from champagne to sparkling water after just one flute with no judgment of his fellow imbibers, and chatted it up with the other friends in this close, exclusive circle—Irishman Noah, Harlem Hank, and a bruiser of a guy from a small town in Nebraska that everyone called Cornfed. At one point, Hank gave a nod to Christian and walked down a short hallway next to the upstairs bar. Christian soon followed, entered a small private room, and closed the door.

  “You hear anything?” Christian asked him.

  Hank nodded. “You probably want to steer clear of this one, money.”

  “Why?”

  Hank took a swig of brown liquor from a tumbler. “Word on the street is that it was a hit; a hired hand took down your dude, or tried to.”

  Christian rubbed his chin, confused and disturbed at what he was hearing. “I thought Danny was out of the game.”

  “Wasn’t a drug hit.”

  “Then what?”

  Hank shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure it was a hit, though, not a random shooting?”

  “I got this from someone who knows the guy who done it. The only accident in this situation is that the dude lived.”

  “So, you know who did this?”

  Hank fixed his eyes on Christian. “I know a dude who knows a dude. Dude shot dude, okay? Don’t even go there and try to further identify. Snitches get stitches where I’m from so even if I’d asked, bro, he wouldn’t have told me. In this type of situation, the less you know, the better. Because folks going around putting hits out on homies aren’t the kind you want to do business with.”

  “You think he’ll try again?”

  “Hit men don’t get paid for almost killing their target. So, if I was dude, I’d leave the hospital and head to a different zip code than the one I had when I went in. You feel me?”

  Christian nodded, slowly lifted a fist. “Thanks, man.”

  Hank executed the fist bump. “You stay out of it, hear?”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “I didn’t say be careful. I said steer clear. What’s this guy to you?”

  “He’s a kid’s father.” A man who’d wanted to meet with me just before he got shot.

  When Christian and Hank returned to the booth, several beauties had joined the table. Better still, the twins had arrived. Christian signaled one to sit beside him while the other perched on his lap. It was Ethan’s thirtieth birthday. Time to get turned up.

  He motioned to a waitress, who was instantly by his side. “Bring out that case of bubbly I ordered for the table. Give a round on the house. And crank up the sound!”

  As if the DJ heard him, the sound of Wiz Khalifa’s “You and Your Friends” filled the room. Downstairs the dance floor filled up. Patrons upstairs started jamming, too. Two waitresses helped fill flutes for everyone at the booth. Two more carried trays of flutes for everyone in the VIP.

  “To Big Easy!” Christian yelled.

  “Big E!” everyone shouted.

  Christian eased Meagan off his lap, placed his hands along her hips and swayed with her as she began to move. Morgan wrapped her arms around him from behind. Tonight belonged to Big Easy and the twins. Tomorrow would be soon enough to try and find out if whatever Danny wanted to tell Christian was news that had almost cost him his life.

  11

  The sun shone brightly and the air was crisp as Mallory, Sam, and Ava exited the Rodgers Theater and headed down 46th Street

  “I can’t believe we just saw that,” Sam said.

  “Right?” Ava gushed. “So amazing!”

  “Worth every penny,” Mallory chimed.

  The ladies laughed, still giddy with their good fortune at getting to see Hamilton on Broadway for free.

  “What do you have to say now about my trolling, Mallory?”

  Mallory’s expression changed to one of sincerity. “Bless you, my child.”

  “Indeed,” Sam added. She looked at Ava. “And you met him at the grocery store?”

  “Yep, went there to pick up some meat, and boy, did I get a good cut!”

  “I still don’t get how he got free tickets to a show that’s sold out from now till next lifetime.”

  “Not free,” Ava explained. “Those were house seats, which can be purchased by cast members for less than the premium price.”

  “I thought he gave them to you,” Mallory said.

  “Who, Aaron?” Sam asked, referencing Ava’s meat market find.

  “He got them for me,” Ava said. “But I paid for them.”

  “Ava, I thought they were free! Oh my gosh, how much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing, Mal,” Ava responded. “You either, Sam. I got a great freelancing job this week. Today was my treat.”

  Mallory linked arms with Ava. “You are the best friend ever.”

  Hamilton was the topic as the three walked down Fifth Avenue to 50th and headed to a trendy Indian restaurant. Business was booming, as was expected on Sunday, but they managed to snag a corner table farthest away from the door and other customers. They scanned the menu. After getting their drinks and placing their food order, the conversation shifted from the play they’d seen on stage to the drama that continued to unfold in real life.

  Ava reached for a strand of Mallory’s black, silky hair. “I really like your hair like this.”

  “Isn’t it great?” Sam asked.

  “Thanks,” Mallory said, self-consciously moving the hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

  “You should keep it,” Ava said.

  “Too much work.”

  “How’d Christian like it?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, t
ell us all about last night.”

  “Is he as gorgeous in person?”

  Mallory nodded. “He is.”

  “And as arrogant?”

  “It would be hard for being continually worshipped not to go to your head. He’s very likable though, so I can see why people adore him, and why Leigh was such a fan.”

  “Did you get to talk to him?” Sam asked.

  “Not privately. His publicist, a woman named Zoey, was very protective of him. She obviously thought I was just some chick who like all the others was trying to crawl into his bed. We bumped heads initially but I played nice and gave her my card, told her about the series. Hopefully I’ll hear from her but I’m not holding my breath.”

  “What if you don’t?” Sam asked.

  “I’ll keep trying. There’s enough info on the web for me to do the first story, which will focus on Graham. Next week I’ll reach out to the director at the center.”

  Ava reached for her drink. “That’s part of his foundation, Christian’s Kids?”

  “Yes.”

  “Having seen him, what’s your gut feeling? Do you think he could have had something to do with Leigh’s death?”

  “I don’t know. If I were to be honest, I can’t say that the handsome, charismatic man I saw last night holding an entire press corps spellbound could harm anybody. After I got home, I went through more of her appointment book.” Mallory reached for her phone. “There are lots of entries about Christian and the Navs. I took screenshots of a few I found interesting.”

  She passed her phone to Ava, who read the screen in a voice just loud enough to be heard at the table.

  “‘Great game tonight. CG . . . hot! God of the goal. Always flirting. Time to go up.” Ava looked at Mallory’. “What does that mean?”

  “I tried to make sense of it and still have no clue, but she uses that word throughout the second half of the appointment book, many times with both letters capitalized. Going up. Getting up. Rising up. It’s weird, but I don’t know that it necessarily means anything.”

  “CG, up,” Ava continued, using her thumb to scroll down. “‘Risqué, 10pm. Then, two days later . . . headed to Hawaii in two weeks! Sometimes secrets are worth keeping.’ Hmm.”

  Ava read the other screenshots and handed Mallory the phone. “There’s nothing incriminating, but clearly he and Leigh hung out.”

  “Sure looks that way,” Mallory said. “And like millions of others in this city and the world, she idolized him. I never heard her say one bad thing about him and if I did, she jumped to his defense.”

  “What about the other names?” Sam said.

  Mallory looked at Ava. “Did you tell her about the accountant?”

  “No.”

  “What accountant?”

  “Isaac Bankole, a financial consultant, according to his website. His name was in Leigh’s appointment book. The same night I discovered it I saw on the news that he was a person of interest in a murder investigation.”

  “No way,” Sam whispered, taken aback.

  “I was shocked,” Mallory said. “And immediately did a background check on him. He’s a shady character with a variety of charges having been leveled against him from fraud to money laundering to obstruction of justice, the only one that led to a conviction. His brother was involved in some type of scam and once caught, Bankole either withheld or destroyed evidence, or both.”

  “Did he do any time?” Sam asked.

  “He was fined and given probation.”

  “Who is the woman?”

  “Where he’s a person of interest?” Mallory asked.

  Sam nodded.

  Mallory reached for her phone. “Audrey Wilson. Thirty-four years old. Single. Worked as an executive assistant for a consulting firm located in the same building as Bankole’s office.”

  “Hmm. I . . .” Ava saw the server coming with their order. The food was placed in front of them. No one reached for their fork. “How is he involved?”

  “I called up one of my contacts who works in the prosecutor’s office and he says that video surveillance shows him talking with Ms. Wilson near the elevators in that building. I guess he was one of the last, if not the last, to see her alive, which is why when it comes to what happened to Leigh I’d suspect him more than Graham, at least for now.”

  Ava eyed Mallory while slowing stirring her cauliflower soup. “Since Graham is no longer a suspect, could he possibly be a prospect?”

  “He is dreamy,” Sam said.

  “And you’re overdue,” Ava added. “You’ve probably got cobwebs by now.”

  Mallory reached for the perfectly done samosa she’d ordered. “He’s not in the clear and I’m not prospecting.”

  “It has been a while, though,” Sam said.

  “Not long enough.”

  As they began eating the conversation shifted from Mallory’s nasty breakup the year before with the man Mallory had pegged as “the one,” back to the names found in Leigh’s appointment book. An hour later, they’d narrowed the list of over a dozen to five that they wanted to investigate further. Mallory took Graham and Bankole. Ava took Randall DuBois, the popular, shrewd politician. Sam was assigned the remaining two—one a musician and one whose relationship to Leigh needed to be figured out.

  “Okay ladies,” Mallory said as they left the restaurant and prepared to go their separate ways. “Can we meet next weekend for updates?”

  “Fine with me,” Ava said. “Or sooner if we get something hot.”

  Mallory headed home, her thoughts on Leigh and what the three of them hadn’t discussed. Leigh’s unborn baby. Did the person who poured her lethal glass of wine know that she was pregnant? That the poison she ingested would also harm the life inside her? If true, the man who killed so as not to become a father would most definitely kill again to stay out of jail. Mallory’s pace increased as she absorbed the potential danger in what she and her friends had undertaken. Her whole body shivered, and not from the cold.

  12

  Mallory arrived at work earlier than usual, hoping to get a jump on what would be a busy week. After firing up her laptop, she checked emails, pulled up the Christian’s Kids website and opened another browser to search online contact information. She’d decided to approach Isaac Bankole as a potential client and needed to set up a meeting with him. She also wanted to make an appointment with Dr. Anaya Kapoor, the obstetrician who ran New Life Medical in Long Island, and whose address had been in Leigh’s appointment book.

  She’d just found the financial consultant’s contact information when Charlie entered the office she shared with another journalist and plopped into a chair.

  “So . . . how was it?”

  She deftly switched tabs to one on Christian’s Kids before swinging her chair around. “Hey, Charlie.”

  “Whoa, look at you!”

  She frowned, then remembered. “Oh. Right. The hair.”

  “I’ll say the hair. Damn, Mal. Now you don’t look like a poodle at all.”

  “Thanks, Charlie Brown.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair straightened. You should keep it like that.”

  “Negative, captain. It’s a pain in the ass to maintain. In fact, you might want to take a picture, because it’ll probably be a while before you see it like this again.”

  Charlie shook his head. “You should keep it straight. Makes you look . . . I don’t know . . . more sophisticated.”

  “In that case, I’ll wash it tonight.”

  They both laughed.

  “You meet Christian?” He walked over to the single chair in front of Mallory’s desk, dropped a load of files from it on to the floor, and sat down.

  “Not directly. Tried to get close enough to set up an interview but was stopped. Twice. First by a bodyguard and then by his publicist.” Charlie’s brow rose. “A woman named Zoey Girard who handles his PR. And from the possessive way she shaded him throughout the course of the evening, she may be handling something else. I thought he’
d be the asshole but no, she took that title.”

  “That pleasant, huh?”

  “Just peachy. But she wasn’t the biggest one there.”

  “No? Who then?”

  “Rob Anderson.”

  “Your former boss and our current rival. Fun reunion?”

  “Would have been if I’d had a weapon sharper than my stiletto. I hate that guy.”

  “That’s a strong word for a man who was just doing his job.”

  “If that were true, he wouldn’t have written those salacious lies and rumors about Leigh. He would have researched to find out the facts before printing bullshit.”

  “They needed the circulation. That paper was losing subscribers faster than Bolt ran the one hundred.”

  “So they turn a respectable paper into a tabloid?”

  Mallory knew the real reason for her former boss’s anger—Leigh’s rejection. Rob had come on to her when the three attended the Publishers and Press Awards dinner and Mallory had introduced them. He’d asked Leigh out. She’d said no. He pursued her for weeks—cards, flowers, chocolates. Nothing worked. Leigh finally told him in no uncertain terms that she was not interested. Rob never got over it.

  Charlie shrugged. “What about Christian?”

  “Professional, charming, arrogant, but aren’t all superstar athletes?”

  “Do you have enough for a story?”

  “There’s certainly enough out there to use if it comes to that. But I’m hoping to get an interview in order to offer a fresh, different perspective on the city’s favorite son.”

  “Glad to hear you say that. It means that I won’t have to tell you to handle Graham with kid gloves. He’s the city’s sports salvation, and any negative talk about him will turn into a negative for the paper. With the steady decline in circulation, we need to attract readers, not piss them off. And talking bad about the golden boy will definitely make his fans unhappy.”

  “Including you?”

  Charlie smirked. “You’re damn right.”

  “I’m going to focus on his foundation, Christian’s Kids. The organization handles over a hundred kids a day, providing after-school services, tutoring throughout the year, and weekend activities. It’s a good use of his money, but I’m not convinced his involvement reaches much farther than his name on the check. Oh, but my bad. I can’t write about that.”