“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.” She chuckled before she dropped the piece of metal into the palm of Tony’s hand.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“When I was growing up, this fuse was the cause of some powerless, hot, and restless summer nights. When it was really hot, which it always was in Pittsburg, this fuse would blow out and we’d lose all power to the house and have to wait until the morning for my granddaddy to go to the hardware store for a replacement,” she said, sliding into the driver’s side of her car. “I bet her ass will call me back now.”
A few minutes later they arrived at New Mecca Restaurant in downtown Pittsburg. The familiar smell of refried beans and Mexican spices flooded Payton’s senses. It brought back memories of her childhood and calmed her nerves. She opened the car door and placed one foot on the pavement.
Tony gestured toward the growing line outside. “Is this the only restaurant they have in Pittsburg?”
Payton grinned. “C’mon, boo, you’re with me.”
“So you got it like that?”
“Yeah, I got it like that.” She closed the car door behind her.
They hurried past the crowd into the narrow restaurant. Lines of confusion marred Tony’s broad forehead as he took in the bullhead mounted to the wall, with what looked to be a rolled joint hanging from its mouth and a bumper sticker plastered beneath it that read No to drugs, yes to burritos. Payton waited for the Latino man at the register to finish taking the payment from the customer in front of her. New Mecca didn’t accept reservations, but before she’d picked up Tony from the Bart station she’d called ahead and Martine, a family friend, had promised to hold a table for her. A few moments later they were escorted to the next available booth.
“So tell me your secret.”
“What secret are you referring to?” she asked, openly flirting with him across the table.
“Any secrets you want to share, but right now I’m most interested in how we were seated within five minutes when the sign upfront clearly states in bold letters they don’t take reservations.”
“Payton? Mija? Is that you?” said an attractive older Latina woman.
Grace Garcia, the waitress, had been working at New Mecca for decades and had served Payton and her grandparents for years when they came for their Friday night dining ritual. Grace’s smooth brown skin was framed by salt-and-pepper strands pulled back away from her face.
Payton stood up and embraced the older woman in a brief yet familiar hug. “Grace, you look wonderful.”
“You too, mija,” Grace said, staring at Tony. “Is this your husband? You better not have gotten married and not invited your Mecca family to the wedding.”
“No. This is my friend, Tony Barnes. Tony, this is Mrs. Grace.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Grace.”
“The pleasure is mine,” she said, shaking his hand. “So what brings you to our neck of the woods, mija?”
“I’m selling my grandparents’ house and I had to take care of some business related to that.”
“Well, I’m glad you stopped by for a visit. Now, what can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll take my usual.”
“I’ll take a Heineken,” Tony added.
“One Fanta Strawberry soda and a Heineken coming right up. I’ll be back in a minute to take your food order.”
Tony closed the menu in front of him.
“Fanta Strawberry?”
“Yeah, Fanta Strawberry. I’ve been drinking it since I was thirteen. I kinda grew up in this place,” she noted again. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”
“What’s good?”
“Everything. If you like Mexican, you can’t go wrong here.” For the first time it occurred to her that she didn’t know if Tony liked Mexican food or not, and that she hadn’t bothered to ask. “You do like Mexican, right?”
“Mexican is fine.”
Grace returned with the restaurant’s famous bean dip and their drinks. “Are you ready to order?”
“I’ll have the Marcella special.”
“What kind of meat?”
“Give me chicken for my taco and shredded beef for the burrito.”
Grace turned to Tony. “What can I get for you?”
“I think I’ll have the same.”
They watched as Grace left their table and made her way to the window at the back of the restaurant, where she handed the order ticket to a woman in the kitchen.
When Payton looked back at him he was looking at her.
“What are you staring at?” She smiled at him across the table.
“You,” he replied, taking a swig of his beer. “So, how are the renovations in the main area of the house coming along?”
“I spoke with the contractor earlier today and he’s on schedule to finish the bathroom tile, the hardwood floors, and the painting by the end of next week. I’m going to call him tomorrow to see what he’ll need to do in the basement once I get this woman out.”
“Well, I’m no contractor, but the basement is finished. Once the trash and other stuff are removed, there won’t be much to do down there besides applying a new coat of paint . . .” His voice trailed off when her cell phone rang.
She immediately accepted the call. “Payton Jones.”
“Ma’am, this is Officer McGrady with the Pittsburg Police Department. I’ve been called out to the property located at 625 West 12th Street in response to a complaint from your tenant.”
“Tenant?” Payton spat, fighting to keep her voice controlled and casual. “Sir, I don’t have a tenant at that property. No one lives at that address other than my uncle, who is currently incarcerated.”
“Well, I have a Ms. Sonja Mitchell here with me and she claims that she has been living at the property and you turned the electricity off.”
“As a matter of fact I did remove a fuse that powers electricity to the home. I don’t have any type of agreement with Ms. Mitchell and she does not pay rent or utilities. I have communicated to her that she cannot live there and have made several arrangements with Ms. Mitchell to remove herself and her things from the property, but every time we schedule a time and I drive out to Pittsburg, she’s not at the house.”
“Ma’am, I understand your dilemma, but Ms. Mitchell has shown me mail she received at this address, she has belongings here, and a key, so by law she is a tenant.”
Payton’s mouth went dry as she processed what the officer had just shared with her. She spoke slowly, choosing her next words carefully. “No disrespect intended, Officer, but I don’t have a contract or verbal agreement with Ms. Mitchell, so the tenant eviction laws do not apply. I need her out of my house today.”
“It sounds like Ms. Mitchell is squatting on the property, but at this point there’s nothing I can do. This is a civil matter and will have to be dealt with through civil court. You can go down to the Pittsburg courthouse on Monday to start the eviction proceedings. In the meantime, I need you to restore electricity to the home.”
“You have got to be kidding,” Payton answered, anger rushing into her voice.
“Sorry, ma’am, but I’m not. When can you return to the property with the fuse?”
“I’m in the middle of having dinner, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll go back to the property and replace it.”
“Would you please give us a call before you head back to the property so that I or another officer can be present?”
“Sure. I don’t see that as a problem.”
“Believe me, ma’am, the civil court system is the only way to handle this situation right now.”
The officer was still talking, but Payton had already checked out of the conversation. The only thing on her mind at that moment was devising a plan to get that bitch out of her property. Pronto.
CHAPTER 20
Barbara Brown was finishing her Sunday evening stroll when she noticed a light blue Saturn stop alongside the Jameses’ driveway. She’
d stopped at the Unitarian Church to catch her breath and was hurrying home so she could watch 60 Minutes. It was almost seven and she’d been out walking for almost an hour, but with daylight saving time there was still plenty of light for her to see clearly. The car looked like the same one she’d seen a few days earlier, parked across the street. She quickened her pace down the incline, careful not to lose her balance. As she moved closer, she caught a better glimpse of the female driver. The woman’s dark sunglasses stood out against her pale yellow face—the kind of face that made men risk getting slapped to take a second look. The woman pressed a piece of paper against the steering wheel and began to write something. Then she folded the paper and sealed it in a large manila envelope with a swipe of her tongue.
Mrs. Brown continued to watch the woman, who looked like she was up to something.
The woman stepped out of the car, her hands pulling on the hem of her almost-nonexistent miniskirt, and moved toward the front gate where she lingered but never pressed the buzzer like a normal guest would. Instead, she creased the large envelope in half and attempted to stuff it into the mail slot that refused its size. The sound of Mrs. Brown’s footsteps on the pavement pulled the woman out of her trance. She turned to find Mrs. Brown standing a few feet away, staring dead in her face.
The woman’s body seemed to clench like a fist and went completely still. Nothing moved except her eyes, which darted behind her sunglasses, like a caged animal looking for an escape route.
“Can I help you, sugar?” Mrs. Brown questioned, eyeing the woman suspiciously and taking in all that could be seen up close. She was a thin girl with big breasts and long legs. Mrs. Brown lifted her expressive eyebrows, waiting for a response.
After a few moments of silence, the woman spoke. “No, thank you, ma’am, I was just leaving something for Dr.—”
“I can see that you leaving something, chile. The question is why you’re putting something in this mailbox that has not made its way through the United States Postal Service. You know that’s against the law, don’t you?”
The envelope fell to the ground and Mrs. Brown caught a glimpse of who it was addressed to before the woman scrambled to pick it up.
“It looks like you are having trouble getting the package to fit in the mail slot. How about I do you a favor and give them the package?”
The woman raised her sunglasses and threw Mrs. Brown a dirty look. “Now why would I do that?” she asked, this time with more force and annoyance in her voice. “It’s obvious you don’t live at this address.”
She turned her back to Mrs. Brown and attempted to push the envelope through the mail slot again.
“Didn’t I see you over here a few days ago, leaving something?”
The woman ignored Mrs. Brown, shaking the envelope around to shift the contents.
“I can take that package for Donathan and make sure he gets it.”
The woman turned around and stepped within inches of Mrs. Brown’s face.
“Look, lady, I don’t know who the hell you are, but what I am or am not leaving in this mailbox should be of no concern to you. You don’t live at this address, so you need to mind your own fucking business.”
Mrs. Brown leaned back in disbelief, responding as if the harsh words had slapped her across the face.
“Chile, have you lost your mind? You young people today don’t have any manners. Didn’t your mother teach you to respect your elders? All I asked was a simple question and it didn’t warrant you disrespecting me.”
“That sorry bitch that gave birth to me didn’t teach me anything. Now if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to kick your old ass for summoning her into my memory today.”
Mrs. Brown’s face contorted and her mouth formed an oversize but silent O. She watched in astonishment as the young woman’s persona changed. Her lips tightened and her features seemed to shift. She stooped down and passed the envelope through the wroughtiron gate and propped it up on the brick column where she’d left the last package. She turned to leave and purposely bumped Mrs. Brown, causing her to stumble backwards, but she quickly regained her footing.
“You disrespectful wench,” she yelled after the woman, who was rushing toward her car. “Somebody needed to take a strap to your behind when you were growing up, or better yet wash your mouth out with soap. I’ve never heard such ugly words come from a woman’s mouth.”
Herbert Brown appeared in his doorway and yelled over to his wife. “Barbara, is everything okay over there? I can hear you carrying on all the way over here.”
She didn’t respond to her husband’s question and her last words to the young woman had fallen on deaf ears as the Saturn sped away down Terrace Drive and made a sharp turn onto Moeser Lane. The woman’s harsh words and body language were like the center pieces of a puzzle. They didn’t make sense. She stirred the woman’s behavior around in her mind, trying to make sense of the encounter before she reached inside the gate and retrieved the manila envelope. She would definitely give the package to Sydney.
With the package tucked underneath her arm, she hurried across the street and mounted the stairs that led to her front door. She was greeted by her curious husband.
“What you got there, Barbara?” Mr. Brown asked, his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper mustache outlining his medium-sized lips. He stepped aside to allow her entrance into the house, but didn’t close the door behind her.
“It’s a package for the Jameses,” Barbara said, hugging the envelope to her chest.
“Didn’t I just see you reach behind their gate to pick up that package?” he said, eyeballing his wife and gathering the envelope for further inspection.
“I-I’m collecting the mail for them . . . they are out of town.”
“You wouldn’t be meddling in other folks’ affairs, now would you?” Mr. Brown pointed in the direction of Donathan’s car, which had just pulled up across the street. “I’ma go take this package to him right now.”
“No, Herbert,” she yelled, her voice escalating as she reached for the envelope. “I was going to give all the mail to Sydney when she gets back tomorrow.”
“Now that doesn’t make sense for us to hold their mail until tomorrow. Especially since the man just drove up. Do you have anything else for them?” He paused outside the front door.
“No,” she replied, deflated.
“Well, you go on in and take a seat. I’ll be right back to join you.”
Mr. Brown waved the manila envelope and called out Donathan’s name as he approached his vehicle. When he reached the car, he handed Donathan the package, his breathing labored.
“Barbara was under the impression that you and Sydney wouldn’t be back until tomorrow and was holding this package for you, but I saw you drive up and rushed it right over.”
* * *
Donathan took the envelope. “Thanks, Mr. Brown.” He found the statement about him being out of town odd because Mrs. Brown had waved to him earlier when he’d left the house. “Did Mrs. Brown say who gave her the envelope?” he questioned, praying Austyn hadn’t come into contact with his nosy neighbor.
“No, she didn’t. I saw her talking to this young woman a few minutes ago, but if you need me to ask her—”
Donathan’s stomach tightened. “That won’t be necessary. You have a nice evening, Mr. Brown.”
“You do the same, son.”
Donathan entered the house and immediately disarmed the alarm system. His instincts told him what was inside the familiar envelope before he ripped it open to find more sexually explicit pictures of himself and Austyn. A note on vellum paper with scarlet-red writing fluttered through the air and caught his attention before it landed on the floor.
Donathan,
Since your wife is out of town I was hoping we could get together tomorrow night and talk about our situation . . . meet me at Mimosa Champagne Lounge at 7:30 p.m. Until then, smooches.
Austyn
“Fuck!” The crumpled see-through paper disappeared into the c
onfines of Donathan’s hand. How the hell did Austyn know Sydney was out of town? And the last thing he needed her doing was continuing to stop by his home and interacting with Mrs. Brown. What if Sydney had gotten the packages instead of him? He walked to the panel to disarm the alarm, and the closed-circuit security monitor sparked his next move. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this sooner. He climbed the stairs two at a time to the second floor. He opened the door to the closet-sized room that housed the recorder for their home security system. He pressed Rewind and then watched the monitor as the tape looped backward, summoning the light blue Saturn parked alongside his gate, a partial license plate number in clear view.
He released his cell phone from his belt clip and dialed Holsey. A partial plate was something.
CHAPTER 21
Joi drove down San Pablo Avenue, taking the long way home. She’d gone to Costco, then stopped by Good Vibrations to return the sex education videos she’d rented, but now she was furious. She’d just listened to a voice-mail message from Tyrese, who’d informed her that he wouldn’t be leaving with them in the morning on their camping trip. What the hell was Tyrese doing? She shook her head at the thought of spending two whole days with two four-year-olds in the wilderness without him.
He’d said something about work, but she didn’t believe him. Camping at East Park Reservoir was an annual thing for Joi’s side of the family. Even her brother, Justin, who played professional basketball for the Sacramento Kings, made it a priority, and she didn’t understand why Tyrese couldn’t do the same. She sighed heavily. Who was she kidding? She did understand. Her husband was up to something and work had nothing to do with it.
She pulled into the driveway and carried one of the large Costco reusable bags inside the house. Tyrese met her at the door, removing the heavy bag from her grasp before bringing in the rest of the bags. When he placed the last bag on the counter, he found Joi hastily putting away the perishable items. They exchanged a long look before she moved around him and made a beeline for the other bags, distancing herself from him.
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