by Nikki Turner
“Yes, it is true. It was indeed a homicide that took place tonight,” the chief confirmed.
“Well, can you maybe tell our viewing audience how the victim was killed? Maybe the circumstances?”
“Well, I, of course, can’t give you the particulars of the case as we are just in the beginning stages; however, I can tell you the victim’s neck was cut.”
“Cut?”
“Yes, our victim’s neck was slashed.”
“Well, can you give me a description of the suspect you guys are looking for that committed such an awful, horrific act? I mean, is there anything our viewers should be on the lookout for; a license plate number or something?”
The chief had his fill of being in the bright lights of the camera. Without hesitation, he placed his hand on the detective’s shoulder. “I’m quite sure you know Detective Chase Dugan. He can answer any other questions you may have, but please make them brief. We all have work to do. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Like a small deer caught in the headlights, the detective was slow and cautious with every response he gave the reporters. When he was finished, they had enough to go live, yet not enough pertinent information to ridicule the fact he and his fellow officer were actually on the premises when the murder of Tiffany Ross took place.
“Wow, Chase. You looking so damn good in that Polo shirt and jeans. And those muscles in your arms . . .” Simone was speaking to the television screen as if her detective beau could really hear her impromptu compliments. Without question, Simone was saddened by the reported details concerning the heinous murder. The fact some seemingly innocent female had been brutally killed by having her throat slashed was more disturbing to her than Bunny slicing their mother and Lenny from foot to ’fro. Simone had no worldly idea that the dead dancer had died by the same hands as those two. Nevertheless, she still kept a keen eye on the television just in case they had an additional two discarded body counts to increase the James River’s dumping ground count. Enduring what seemed like the longest commercial filled the first eleven minutes of the news, then Simone exhaled. She was sure that if the bodies had been found, it would’ve made at least the second or third top story. But now, they were covering the weather yet once again. “I might need to call Chase and at least see if he knows or heard anything. I can’t be living on pins and needles like this. I can’t be caught off guard.”
Moments before Simone placed the call, Ginger bolted through the front door hotter than fish grease. Slamming the door with the superstrength of three men, Ginger wasted no time in filling Simone in on the details of his night. “This fool think I’m some sort of a joke; we are some jokes.”
“Wait a minute. Hold up,” Simone put both hands in the air. “Slow down. I’m confused.”
Ginger had to catch his breath. Known to be the flamboyant drama queen of the family, he knew he had tendencies to talk faster than average folk could comprehend. “Look, after that dick-stroker-in-disguise called me last night, I shot right over there.”
“Over where?”
“The church.”
“Nooo . . . not the church.” Simone’s eyes bucked as she giggled.
“Yesss . . . bitch, yesss. The motherfucking church. You heard what I said,” Ginger replied with no shame or guilt in his voice for violating the house of God.
“Oh my.”
“Yeah, well, when a bitch got there, you know it was all good my way. You know good and damn well I wasn’t leaving out of the house any time after ten on a damn Friday night on no dry dick run. If I put my shoes on these pretty, manicured feet and waste my gas, high as that bullshit is, it was gonna be some serious fucking and sucking going on. And I mean serious!”
Simone was all in listening to Ginger talk that talk. Never being one to live on the edge, over the years, she’d grown accustomed to live vicariously through her sister’s wild-spirited existences. “Please tell me you didn’t, Ginger. Please!”
Ginger cracked a smile realizing Simone was being a prude of sorts. “I had that queen bent over begging for more of this bronze pole I was cursed being born with. Then this morning, he had the nerve to get tough toned with me.”
“What?”
“Yeah, talking about he wasn’t gonna sign over the deed to this house to me.”
“Hold up, did he ever say he was?” Simone sat up on the edge of the couch interested in the answer Pastor Street gave.
“Naw, but I don’t give a sweet shit about what he actually said or thought.”
“Oh, wow!”
“Oh, wow, nothing, Simone. I know his undercover ass ain’t think I was giving up all this meat for nothing. There’s a price to pay for everything, and I do mean everything.”
“I guess so,” she giggled.
“Shidd, you guessed right. I mean, sis, he tried to talk all slick, but trust, I got something real deep for that ass. But forget all that right now.” Ginger kicked off his shoes and fell back onto Me-Ma’s favorite chair to catch his breath. “What in the hell your ass doing up all early on a Saturday morning?”
Simone informed Ginger that she’d wanted to watch the first news report of the day to see if they’d found Deidra and Lenny yet. “I didn’t see anything about what we did, but I did see some girl got her throat slashed down at the strip club Spoe’s boy Tariq used to hang out at.”
“Treat’s?”
“Yeah, that’s it. And guess who they interviewed?”
“Let me damn guess; your Inspector Gadget boyfriend?” Ginger turned up his lip while rubbing on his feet.
Simone laughed at the comparison. “Yup, Chase’s fine ass. He said one of the dancers named Tiffany got her head damn near cut off her body.”
“Tiffany!” Ginger leaped to her feet almost kicking over the sofa table. “Did you say a dancer down at that piece-of-shit club? You mean that son of a bitch named Tiffany?”
“Yeah, I think so. Why?”
“Fuck all the whys right about now. Have you spoken to Bunny?”
“Bunny? Naw, not since she left here. I tried calling her again late last night, but I still got the voice mail.”
“Shit!”
“Shit, what? What’s wrong?”
“Come on, Simone. I know your memory ain’t that bad. You know that’s the damn female that Bunny said set Spoe and Tariq up, don’t you? She said her name was Tiffany, and the ignorant bitch danced at that club. We need to find out where Bunny at. Fast and in a hurry!”
Simone sat motionless. As she replayed the conversation she and Bunny had, it soon came back to her that Ginger was correct. The girl’s name was Tiffany, and she was one of the headliners at Treat’s Gentlemen’s Club. Without hesitation, she ran to the stairs. Sprinting up the stairs and back, she returned with her cell phone in hand. Pulling up Bunny’s name, she hit Talk. One short ring and her call was directly sent to voice mail. This time was different than the others because Simone was not able to leave a message since the box was filled to capacity. “I can’t even leave a damn message for her ass. We need to go over to her house, like now!”
* * *
As Ginger drove to Bunny’s condo, Simone called Chase in hopes of obtaining information relating to the bodies and Bunny’s disappearing ass.
“Good morning.”
“Hey, sunshine. Good morning to you also. How did you sleep?”
“I slept well. I just called to tell you that you looked very handsome on the news this morning.”
“Wow, you saw that, huh?”
“Yeah, why you say it like that? You looked good to me . . . considering the circumstances.”
“Yeah, some dancer messed around and got killed; a real messy scene. But I know you don’t wanna hear about all that drama.”
He had no idea that was indeed all Simone wanted to hear about. Truth be told, that was the nature of the call in the first place . . . to fish for information not only about the murder at the club and if they had any suspects, but if he’d heard of anymore deceased bodies turning up at
the river. “Not really, but I feel so sorry for that girl and her family. I hope you guys find out who did it.”
“Yeah,” Detective Dugan was distracted by someone coming into his office bringing him some files on yet a few more unsolved cases. “Sorry, Simone. What were you saying, sweetie?”
“Nothing much, Chase. I was just saying I hope you guys have the no-good man behind bars that hurt that girl last night. Doing her like that was a sin and a shame. I hope you locked him up and threw away the key.”
“As much as I would love to say yeah, we got the scumbag off the street and get the chief and the damn mayor off my back, no dice. Not only do we have no leads, we don’t even know if the killer is a man or a woman.”
“A woman?”
“Yeah, Simone. You know, maybe one of the other girls was jealous of the victim’s beauty or something.” Chase was strangely enchanted by the dead girl Tiffany’s perfect angelic face and seductive voice.
“Oh, so you think she was beautiful, huh?” Simone quizzed with envy almost forgetting the reason for the call. “I guess I should be kinda glad you dating me and only me, right?”
Chase smiled, feeling like the female he was so crazy about was also into him the same way as well. “Girl, you know it’s no chick in the world I think is more flyer than you.”
“Oh, okay, then,” Simone laughed getting back on track as Ginger gave her the side eye. “Well, what else is going on? When are we going on another date? You owe me a steak dinner, or did you forget?”
“It’s coming, I promise. Just as soon as I think we have one thing under control, though, some other mess pops up. First, the dancer getting killed last night while me and my partner were down at the club, then the two damn burned bodies by the riverbank.”
“Down at the club? Two burned bodies? What?” she suspiciously repeated, shocked to hear both admissions. Playing the dumb role, she continued to dry pump him for even more information. “You were at the club last night other than investigating that someone burned up two people? Yeah, Chase, your life is way too busy for me and complicated.”
“Naw, sweetie, it’s not. I’ll tell you what. Can you meet me today for a late lunch? I promise I’ll be on time and not let anything stand in our way.”
Not wanting to miss out on an opportunity to have a face-to-face with the man who was ultimately holding her and her siblings’ freedom, unknowing, in his hands, Simone immediately replied yes before ending their conversation. Turning her attention back to Ginger, she informed him of the details of what Chase had said. “We’re gonna have a late lunch. That way, I can really read his face and con the true four-one-one outta his ass!”
Seconds before they pulled into the empty driveway of Bunny’s condo, Simone’s cell phone rang. Automatically assuming it was Chase forgetting to tell her something, she answered without even looking at the screen. “Don’t tell me you’re cancelling on me. It only took all of what—two minutes?”
“Yes, hello. Is this Miss Simone Banks?”
“Umm . . . yes, it is,” Simone removed her cell from her ear taking a quick look at the screen. Seeing a 1-800 number, she was still at a loss of who it was. “I’m sorry, but who’s calling?”
“Yes, this is Capital Health Insurance Company. We’re calling on behalf of Tallhya Banks-Walker and the facility she’s currently admitted in. You are listed on the admission record as the main contact person.”
“Yes, that’s right. Is my sister okay?”
“Oh, she’s fine as she can be. But we have a problem with billing.”
“A problem? What kind of problem?”
“It seems that Walter Walker, listed as her spouse, recently cancelled her health insurance, so we need some other type of payment arrangements to be made by six o’clock this evening or she will be discharged.”
“He did what?” Simone yelled, causing Ginger to stop from getting out of the parked car. That low-down son of a bitch! I’m going to personally cut his throat!
After confirming what her soon-to-be former brother-in-law had done, Simone filled in Ginger. Deciding one day soon Walter would be on their “list” of no-good motherfuckers who went against the grain of the Banks sisters that had to be dealt with, they smiled.
Luckily, Tallhya had taken the monthly payout of her lottery windfall and could easily cover her own medical bills when her next stipend was paid. For the time being, Simone assured the caller she’d be in the office by the end of the day with a check to cover her sister’s expenses for the next week or so. Now totally disgusted or confused with most of the men they’d encountered over the past month, with the exception of Detective Dugan, Simone grimaced.
Walking up to Bunny’s condo, she then motioned for Ginger to be quiet as they pressed their ears to the door. After hearing no movement or noise inside, Simone retrieved the spare key from the spot Bunny always hid it in. In a matter of seconds, she and Ginger were inside of the expensively decorated condo.
“Okay, now, this bullshit is creepy as a motherfucker. First, the bitch don’t answer none of our calls. Then her car ain’t here, and now this! What the hell is this?” Ginger snatched all three of the letters off of the dresser in Bunny’s bedroom. Ripping the envelope open that had his name boldly written across the front, the reason for Bunny’s absence became evident.
By the time Simone was finish reading her handwritten preconfession note of sorts, she knew they had to find Bunny as soon as possible. She’d said she was going to make Tiffany pay for what she’d done to Spoe and Tariq. And by all accounts of the tragic events that unfolded the night before at Treat’s Gentlemen’s Club, Bunny had kept her murderous word. Now they had to find their seemingly disturbed sister and save her from herself. Like the final sentence in the note read, by her own hand she’d be with Spoe, dancing in heaven, before she’d spend one night locked up in the hell that was prison.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dino woke up with a new go-getter attitude and lease on life. Knowing he was a true hustler, he never missed a beat. Convinced he could double up and financially rebound from the major lost he suffered at the hands of Spoe and his mystery partner, he lit a blunt, blowing smoke up in the air. Tying his thick, waist-length dreads in a ponytail, he felt the energy of the day in his bones. He’d made things as right as he could with his connect. He had no choice if he and his boys wanted to continue running the narcotic-plagued neighborhoods they were holding down.
Having made several trips up to New York for face-to-face meetings with the main plug, Dino had a lot of explaining to do. Thankfully, the ruthless and rotten leader of the Bloody Lions Posse finally reassured the higher-ups the drug pipeline he’d worked almost a good year and three months on was back secure. He made his foreign investors see that it was only by sheer luck the men that’d infiltrated his home were able to get away with that much product and cash. Showing them plans of not only a new high-tech security system in place, but pictures of one of the culprits, Spoe, being half-eaten by the dogs, they finally were satisfied. Leaving Spanish Harlem with the confidence of the bosses he needed to make money, Dino vowed to never let anyone—man, woman, cat, or dog—get close enough again to know where his stash was.
Now, in less than two hours, the bloodthirsty drug merchant would accept delivery on a new drug package. That blessing from the dope gods would put him not only a little bit back in the game, but all the way back on his feet as well. Considering it was the day of his big prebirthday bash at Club You Know, this come up was right on time. He reached for his phone and dialed the party promoter to ensure that there would be no surprises.
“Yeah, man, you guys got the bottles ready for me or what? I’m not bullshitting around tonight. We trying to turn the hell up in that motherfucker! I need to let this entire city know me and my posse still standing strong and ain’t about to fall short no time soon!”
“Of course, Dino. You know we about our business down here at the club. For real, for real. Now, have we ever let you or your people down? I
don’t think so,” the party promoter reassured one of his favorite and loyal customers. “When I say I got you, I got you. Besides VIP, which is practically sold out, we got the flyers posted all around the city; on Facebook and Instagram too.”
Having confidence his party would be banging, Dino’s mind was at ease. While getting dressed, the seasoned thug grabbed the oversized universal remote. With one click, he turned on not only the television, but the surround system as well. As the thunderous sounds kicked from the various speakers, he abruptly stopped dead in his tracks. He thought he was seeing wrong. He thought he was hearing wrong. It couldn’t be, yet seemed as it was. What in the entire fuck? Oh, hell, naw! Paying close attention to the suit-and-tie-clad reporter on the midday newscast, Dino’s mouth dropped open. The fact that the local strip club he and his boys would hang out at from time to time was the backdrop for a story was nothing. There was always some sort of petty crimes or minor disturbances taking place there. That bullshit was normal at a strip club. However, what was not normal was seeing the female’s face—who was just calling him the night before like some sort of a stalker—plastered all across the sixty-five inch mounted flat screen.
Tiffany was everything that being a stripper, gold digger, opportunist, slut, ho, and bitch encompassed. She was all that . . . and more. Matter of fact, a master at her craft of hustling men out their cash. Now the always-down-for-whatever female could add another well-deserved title to her extensive ghetto résumé: murder victim. Damn, I knew that bird was gonna get got one day, but shit . . . Now the sneaky tramp can’t suck me off for a couple of dollars no more when a playa get a taste for some of that good head game she got—or rather had.
Dino didn’t know the circumstances behind Tiffany’s demise but knew whoever took her out of the game had a good reason to do so. He had no real proof she was behind the deadly robbery at his house, yet, she was one of his suspects, so, fuck her was his mind-set. He was thrown off that she was dead, but that still didn’t stop or put a damper on the fact his party was later that night. Dino was feeling himself and wasn’t gonna let not no person—dead or alive—bring him down.