Riddles

by Rhonda Crowder

“Then don’t you ever do that shit again. I could’ve been talkin’ to my wife.”

  Oh, so that’s Dee.

  “She said Ke-Ke’s dead.” Counter Guy pointed to me.

  “Dead?” He turned toward me. “How you know her?” Dee looked me up and down. Then he locked eyes with me. His were the cutest, brownest ones I’d ever seen. They didn’t look like those of a killer.

  Get it together, Riddles. Cute or not, he could still be the murderer.

  “I worked with her,” I said.

  He continued to stare with confusion. “You look like her.”

  “I know. I’ve heard that a lot. But, no. We just worked at Joker’s together.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “So you knew her?” I asked him.

  “Why you here?” He ignored my question.

  I tilted my head to the side and smiled. Even married men will soften with a little flirting.

  “Why do people come here?” I said and smiled.

  “How you know I know her?” he said and frowned at me.

  Frustrated by his deflections, I said, “I had no idea you knew her. I came to look at some wheels.” I nodded my head toward Counter Guy. “We started talking, and-”

  “I got you,” Dee said then shot eye daggers at Counter Dude. He looked back at me. “Okay. So, what exactly are you looking for – uhm, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Riddles,” I answered “I don’t know exactly why I’m looking for.” I looked at him out the side of my eye, and let that comment linger in the air. “He showed me some options in the catalogue.” I closed the book still laying on the counter. “Maybe I’ll just come back later.”

  I never had no intentions on buying anything anyway.

  “I got more,” Dee’s employee said seemingly not wanting to let a sale – or me – get away.

  “I’m sure you can find something.”

  “What you rollin?” Dee asked.

  I pointed through the glass at my car. He followed my finger.

  “I got something that’s perfect for that.” He left the showroom then returned with a book displaying a wheel so pretty it almost caused me to break down and buy.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking,” I said. I smiled at him. “I like those, but I’m still just trying to get some ideas though.”

  Dee closed the book. He looked at me. “I can get you whatever you want,” he said.

  “But that’s good to know. Don’t think I’m ready to settle on something today. I try not to be an impulsive shopper.”

  “Really?” Counter Dude stated. “You wanna get married?”

  I smiled. Dee shook his head. I turned to leave.

  “Please excuse him.” Dee jerked his thumb toward his friend. “But, listen. Can I talk to you about something?” He opened the door. “Here, I’ll walk you to your car.” Once we got outside he asked me, “You do private shows?”

  “You couldn’t ask me that in front of your him?” .

  “Oh, you can’t tell? He talk too much. So do you or don’t you.”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Here’s the thing. Ke-Ke was supposed to be getting some girls for me for one of my dude’s bachelor party.”

  “Oh, Malibu used to do private parties for you,” I said and tilted my head.

  He laughed. “Not what you thinking. Like I said, she used to get girls for me.” He leaned his back against my truck and folded his arms like he wasn’t going to let me get away. “She got a few the last time, one named Buttercup. I don’t have anybody’s number and I don’t be messin’ around in them strip clubs. So I’m kind of stuck.”

  Seizing the opportunity to further acquaint myself with Dee, I said, “Yes. I can get some girls for you if that’s what you want. I just don’t do them.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I want. Put your number in my phone,” he said handing it to me. “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay. Just let me know when and what you need.”

  “Give me a couple of days to confirm everything.” He picked up my hand and looked at my ring finger. “My brother ain’t blind. You are fine. Why you out here stripping, ain’t got no man taking care of you?”

  I pointed at his ring and said, “Cause you have a wife.” He chuckled. I grinned. “Seriously though, I take great care of myself and my daughter stripping. But maybe . . . Maybe, I just might find one willing and able one day.” I winked at him, then got in my car. “See you soon.”

  I can’t believe I did more flirting with a possible killer then interrogation.

  At least I would see him again. Next time I’ll have some questions prepared. But, I beamed, I did a good job finding out stuff! Probably more than what the police know.

  I felt proud about taking the initiative to investigate and making some progress. Plus, playing detective beat lying around in a depressive state.

  The afternoon sun had made the inside of my car hot, so I turned up my air conditioner and drove away. I thought about Dee, still not knowing much about his relationship with Malibu or why he gave her such an expensive vehicle. He couldn’t have been just a trick? He referred to her as “Ke-Ke,” though. The guy behind the counter knew her as well.

  Definitely closer than a trick, I reasoned.

  Was that his child? Maybe that’s why he bought her the car.

  Hmmm . . .

  Then I remembered, he hadn’t asked me anything about the murder. Maybe he’s the Rae Carruth in this story. Or maybe, I thought, Dee’s wife found out about Malibu and the Lexus, and paid someone to do it. He did go off on dude for mentioning her name during that phone call.

  Damn Malibu, another possible love triangle? You sure did live a messy life.

  I’d have to add Dee’s wife to my suspect list.

  I headed home feeling like I had really accomplished something good.

  Chapter Eleven

  I traveled Interstate 85 to GA 400 toward North Fulton against moderate traffic. I arrived at my exit in no time and decided to stop at The Cheesecake Factory at Perimeter Mall. Walking to the bakery counter, I noticed Angie and Peanut seated at a booth. They looked as if they were on a date. Where are the children? I hope not home alone while they’re romancing. I seemed to be the only one still thinking about Malibu, the only one who couldn’t move on.

  “Hey you,” said the cashier. I frequented the place so much we had become quite familiar with each other. I waved. “I’ll have your pie in two minutes.”

  “Only want a slice today,” I said as I tried to scope out Angie and Peanut.

  When she returned, I paid, then walked to the bar so I could eat the pie and watch the “couple” a little while longer without being noticed. From where I sat, they apparently enjoyed each other’s company. When I saw their waitress clearing their table, I decided to follow them.

  I watched them leave the restaurant, get in Malibu's Lexus, and drive toward the mall. Of course I trailed at a respectful distance. They parked and went into Macy’s.

  As I crossed the threshold of the department store, I zeroed in on them in the men’s department. Peanut browsed the big ticket designer jeans while Angie looked at him like a proud mother rewarding her little boy for receiving good grades or something. To me, the sight seemed pathetic. Malibu hadn’t been dead a week. And to top it off, her mother claimed to not have any money for rent but is out dining and buying this grown man some brand clothes. I knew she footed the bill because he hadn’t worked or even went as far as to lift a finger to earn an income, according to Malibu. That was always her biggest gripe with him and her mother.

  I strategically moved in a little closer in hopes of hearing something. I positioned myself in the area diagonally across from where they browsed.

  “So, you gone get a job right, baby?” Angie said.

  Baby? I mouthed. Got that right, the way you taking care of him.

  “I told you I would,” he snapped. “What you think about these?” He held up a pair of jeans and examined them.

  Uhhh, those ugly!

 
“Those cute,” she answered. “You gone get ‘em or what?”

  I wonder if she’s spending the money I just gave her?

  “Wait a minute. Let me see what else they got.” He tossed her the jeans and continued to look around. I moved as they moved, acting as if I perused the racks as well.

  “We lucky we got all that money from the police,” Angie said. “But it won’t last forever. You know we gotta be careful not to go broke,”

  “We won’t if you let me go head and flip it.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said and shook her head. “Like I said, we just gotta be careful. About everything.”

  Careful about what, Angie? I took a step forward and turned my head so I could hear their conversation better.

  “Did them insurance people ever call?” he said. He glanced over at her, then past her, seemingly looking directly at me. I jumped back out of his line of view and bumped into something.

  “Shit!” I said startled, I turned around to see what I’d hit.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” a saleswoman said.

  “No,” I said and took in a breath. “Thank you.” I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip.

  “I-I’m fine. I’m finding everything just fine.”

  “Okay, but if you need any help . . .”

  I didn’t hear what else she said because, just then, I lifted my head to stare Angie and Peanut dead in their faces.

  “Are you following us?” Peanut said. Spit spewed with each one of his words

  “Uhm. Pardon me?” Was all I could think to say.

  “Bitch, I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to.” He pointed his finger at me.

  I looked at the salesperson and she looked at him.

  “Sir,” she said. “Is there a problem?”

  “Yeah, that bitch is following me.”

  Then the salesperson looked at me. I hunched my shoulders and shook my head.

  “I saw your ass come in the Cheesecake Factory,” he directed his words to me.

  “I don’t have a reason to do that,” I told the salesperson.

  “Bullshit!”

  “Sir, you’ll have to leave with that language.”

  “We’re going,” Angie said and grabbed his arm pulling him toward the exit.

  “That bitch keeps turning up.” He jerked his arm away from Angie. “Gone fuck around-”

  “I know,” Angie said in a low voice, trying to calm him down.

  He turned and looked back at me. “I’ll see your ass again,” he yelled while Angie dragged him down the aisle.

  Chapter Twelve

  After the encounter with Angie and Peanut, I felt kind of shaky.

  Maybe I’m not as savvy as I thought at this.

  I went home, ate my pie, and went to bed. The next morning, I decided to call the police department again to see if they’d secured any leads.

  I hurried to my home office, picked up the phone, and dialed the number.

  I went through the same routine as before, expecting to get the voicemail of the detective in charge. While I prepared to leave a message, the detective actually picked up. He was lucky because I had planned to request his supervisor if I didn’t get an answer.

  “Yes, I work over Joker’s Gentleman’s Club and was wondering if you’ve found out anything about the Kenyatta Morgan’s case,” I said.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Chyne Jaspers.”

  “Well, Ms. Jaspers. I assume you’re not married.”

  I was taken aback by his assumption.

  And what did that have to do with anything?

  “Nothing has surfaced concerning this case. And right now, I have a pretty heavy load. But, since I have you on the phone, let me ask you this.” He cleared his throat as I heard papers shuffle. “Maybe you can help me out. What can you tell me about your former co-worker?”

  “All I know is she was found dead in that VIP room,” I said. “I’m just a little scared.”

  “I understand, Ms. Jaspers. Maybe, you should consider another profession.” He cleared his throat again. “You seem bright and all.”

  “Excuse me, but what do you mean by seem bright?” I asked.

  “I’m saying, you’re the first and only girl from that club who has called me to inquire about this case. That shows initiative. So, perhaps you know something and want to know what we know, or you’re concerned about being in a safe work environment. Dangerous and unsafe as it maybe be to begin with…” he coughed again.

  “With all due respect,” I said trying to suppress my rising temper. “I have considered other professions, but this works for me and what I’m trying to do. So, yes, I am very concerned about my work place safety.”

  “Well, have you at least considered another club? That place is trouble and this doesn’t make things any better.”

  “Have you considered doing your job?”

  “Listen, Ms. Jaspers, if you want to, feel free to check back with me periodically. Like I said, I don’t have anything yet, but who knows? And if you hear anything, by all means contact me. That would help a great deal.”

  I hung up, wondering if the death of Kenyatta “Malibu” Morgan would forever be a cold case. The perfect murder. Knowing the police wouldn’t wholeheartedly pursue this case, I felt an even stronger sense to continue my amateur sleuthing.

  I turned on my computer, waited as it booted up, and clicked on the browser. Then hopped up and headed to the bathroom. This murder had me straight up delusional.

  After handling my business, I returned to my desk and looked at my clues and suspects sheet. I added all of my new information, including Peanut’s words and reactions.

  I turned to the computer and entered “New York County Clerk of Courts” in Google search. Over ten pages of hits returned.

  Wow . . .

  I clicked on the link that read County Clerk of New York County. It wasn’t useful. Next, I clicked on the link that read New York City Criminal Court. Nope. Nothing there. This was making me a tad frustrated. In Ohio, the databases were resourceful and easy to navigate. New York’s databases made me feel like I was looking for a needle in a haystack.

  I tried New York State Department of Rehabilitation and NYS Department of Correctional Services. It looked more user friendly so I entered Kenyatta Morgan. But before I clicked search, I remembered she wouldn’t have been able to obtain a work permit to dance in Atlanta if she had a criminal background. So I moved on.

  Angela Morgan. Let’s see what Momma’s got going on. I typed her name, pressed search, and several entries popped up. I scanned through the entries and picked the one with the birth year of 1973 since I knew she was thirty-four. I found out that not only had she had been arrested for misdemeanors such as petty theft and prostitution, but she had served a three-year sentence on a felonious assault. I had to put a face to the name to confirm identity. I found her mugshot.

  Bingo!

  I printed the info and then continued my search for other law enforcement agencies and court clerks throughout the New York area. I looked to see if there was as much as a parking ticket registered in Malibu mother’s name. I didn’t find anything else.

  I continued to use every search and database I could think of, including the ones for Atlanta, and the surrounding counties that make up the metropolitan area. I also subscribed to a few name finder searches but continuously came back blank.

  Okay enough of her. What about Peanut?

  Then I realized I didn’t have his full name. Moving down my list, I realized that I needed Dee’s real name as well.

  Maybe I could call the city and find who holds the business permit for Rollin Dee’s. I hope it’s in his name. I didn’t know if he were into any illegal activities. He had a certain air about him. His style seemed understated, yet elegant. I felt as if he had a sense of class, giving off an illusion of power and sense of control. I really didn’t like to automatically slap the illegal label on black men but sometimes I couldn
’t help it.

  I searched the internet for the number to City Hall. I called and the phone rang for a while before an automated recording started. I pushed the button and waited. A soft female voice answered.

  “Yes,” I said. “I need to know who holds the business license for Rollin Dee’s on Cheshire Bridge Road,”

  “Hold please,” she responded. The phone went silent for a few moments before she returned.

  “The owner’s name is Diablo Gonzalez.”

  “Are there any co-owners?”

  “No, there are no co-owners listed,” she responded.

  Dee didn’t look or sound like a Diablo Gonzalez, I thought. “Thank you,” I said and ended the call.

  I began to do a criminal background search on Diablo Gonzalez. It was difficult to do because I found several people with the same name but I wasn’t sure of Dee’s age, so I wasn’t sure if the info I found was about him. I figured he couldn’t have been too much older than me.

  I decided to just do a general search. When I put his name in Google, several links appeared.

  “Oh wow,” I said when I opened up the first link. Come to find out, he was a college football star slated to go the NFL. I read on and discovered that apparently he shocked the sports community when he announced that he used his athletic scholarship for a free education and didn’t plan to abuse his body to earn money for a select group of already rich men. I chuckled. It went on to say that after graduating, he put his degree in international business to use.

  I like this guy . . .

  Okay, I thought, I know shouldn’t have been feeling that way but I sensed an attraction stirring. He became much more intriguing, sexier, to me. I read more articles but soon realized even though he had captured my attention I wasn’t getting any closer to finding the murderer.

  I let out a sigh. A small portion of me believed that my efforts were in vain, that this obsession drove me crazy. But a larger part of me said, “Don’t give up!”

  At that moment, something hit me. I just had a feeling that the culprit would reappear in the club. They say arsonists always returned to the scene of the crime. Maybe that held true for murderers too. I just didn’t know who to look for or when. I reasoned I needed to be in Joker’s to solve this murder, keeping my eyes and ears open for that one strong piece of evidence to surface.