Once we finished and Pimp completed his business, we turned my office into a war room.
“Pussy, you can run a check on that number. It could be a throw away. I’ll put someone on The Blue Flame,” said Pimp after I stopped the recorded conversation with Buttercup. “He’s sure to surface up there if that’s his stomping ground. I got some partners over that way. I’ll put it in their ear to be on the lookout for him and that whip. Let’s put this in motion and we can find out who he is and who sent him, then prepare that lil nigga for the undertakers.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Later that afternoon, Pimp and Pussy left. He planned to take her home and come back after they picked up her son from school. I assured them that I would be fine. I felt somewhat secure inside my home. But, in reality, anxiety set in shortly after they left.
I really didn’t know what to do with myself. I stood in the middle of our war room and thought about our strategy; find the guy in dreadlocks and beat the information out of him.
I shook my head. This can’t be my life. I don’t bother anyone.
Trying to take my mind off of it, I decided to log onto my website. I liked checking the chat rooms to see what members talked about; to learn about their desires. That’s how I made my money – supply and demand, giving them what they wanted.
My administrative username was Fairy Godmother since I granted their wishes. Sometimes I went by Paydapiper when I wanted to have a little fun.
I skimmed the dialogue and read a comment or two. One comment piqued my interest. The user wanted to see a she-male having sex with a woman. That user wasn’t the first to make that request. It popped up every now and again.
They really go there sometimes, I thought then tried to figure a way to make it happen without paying too much for it. Finding the she-male wasn’t a problem, especially in Atlanta. But, I only know of men wanting to get down with them. All the females who responded to my help wanted ads more than I was willing to pay.
Once the chat rooms stop holding my attention, I clicked off. I remembered I wanted to renew my subscription to The Atlanta Voice so I went to their website.
That took all of two minutes. What am I going to do now?
I started to pick up the phone and call Emerson. I figured I would just ask. Maybe, if I asked him flat out, he would tell me. Or, maybe . . . Just maybe it wasn’t him . . .
I pushed my chair away my desk with more force than I intended. I went upstairs and grabbed my house phone. I clicked through the Caller ID and without batting an eye, dialed the number. I held my breath as it rang. Once. Twice. A third time.
I got his voicemail and left a message. I didn’t have the nerve to leave the one I wanted, the one asking how he could hire someone to kill me. Instead, I just said “Call me back.”
I decided to finish cleaning up the house. Just as I was about to put a load of clothes in the washer, the phone rang and my heart stopped.
“Hello,” I said answering it.
“So, you finally decided to hear me out?”
Emerson.
“Yes. I figured that’s the least I could do.”
“Well, can we meet somewhere and talk?” he asked.
“No. I have some guests in town,” I said. I wanted to let him know I was not alone. “And I don’t want to leave them. I hoped we could discuss the matter over the phone.”
“I want to see you and the baby.”
I swallowed hard.
Did he want to kill my little girl, too?
“Why now?” I said trying not to let the fear in my voice eke out. “All of a sudden? After all that happened between us?”
“I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m running for Congress. I’m going to really have to put the two of you behind me. It’s been hard for me to do that over the years. I always think of the love-” He paused. “What I wanted to share with you.”
All of my senses felt the sincerity of those words.
“We ended so abruptly, on such bad terms,” I said. Tears filling my eyes.
“I never intended for us to end, Chyne. Just had to be that way. But, listen, I am at a point where I have to move on, put those feelings all the way behind me. I’m getting married-”
Married?
“So that’s it,” I said. “So you can get married?” I didn’t want him to know what I knew. My fear turned into anger. “I can’t believe you actually called to tell me you want to see us because you’re about to get married.”
“Trust me, Chyne. This is just as difficult for me . . .”
“Don’t give me that, Emerson. Just know, you don’t have to worry about it. About us. We won’t bother you. You can just forget about us.”
“That’s just it, Chyne, I can’t forget about you. Neither one of you, no matter how hard I’ve tried. You’re still here with me. I want to see my little girl.”
“First of all, how will I explain you to her? Listen, your secret is safe. Always been safe. But you best believe, I’ll do whatever I have to to protect my daughter, so leave us alone and just go on and have a nice fuckin’ life!” I hung up the phone.
Married. Who’s the lucky woman? Now, I’m certain he’s he’s behind Malibu’s murder, just have to prove it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“But you said you were coming back?” I whined to Pimp through my cell phone, the following afternoon, as he called to check on me. He mumbled some excuse for his absence.
“Yes,” I said after much quibbling. “I’m good. Thanks for asking.” I don’t know if he heard the sarcasm in my voice.
“Listen,” he said. “This P.I. cat traced some of Emerson’s purchases and shit and found out he recently bought a custom engagement ring from De Beers.”
I remained silent, processing the thought of Emerson wanting me dead so he can marry. I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone.
“Look. Ain’t gon’ talk too much more through this horn. We’ll chop it up when I get there,” he said, with a soothing voice that made me know he could fix any problem.
“Okay,” I said. “Later.”
Sitting at my desk all morning, I looked at the clock and I realized half the day had passed. I figured the mail had run so I got up to check my box. I walked through the front door and to the curb then flipped the latch. I reached in and pulled out a stack of bills, some catalogs, and a newspaper. I immediately looked at the latest edition of the Atlanta Voice. I wanted to read it but knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. I dropped the mail on the desk in my office.
Emerson had become the number one suspect on my list, and even with the little intel Pimp had gathered, I hadn’t any idea how we’d prove it. It was all super clear to me now. He didn’t want to run the risk of his soon to be wife knowing the Honorable Emerson Jones fathered a child out of wedlock with a stripper. I guess none of the bourgeois broads he dated would ever accept such an indiscretion from their man.
Going over what I knew made me think about Buttercup. We hadn’t talked since that night she told me I had been the actual target. I decided to pay her a visit.
I drove to the condo. It wasn’t far from my home. I really didn’t feel a need to forewarn, especially since she stayed in my place and she had not paid me to live there. I pulled up to the building, parked in one of the visitor spaces and walked toward the entrance. As I approached, the concierge began to smile. Seemingly contagious, I did the same.
“Good to see you, Ms. Jaspers.”
“Same to you. How’s everything going?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked. There’s been a slight problem with your guest? New tenant?” he questioned. “Anyway, here’s the complaint,” he continued as he handed over a sheet of paper.
“Thanks. I’ll make sure it’s resolved.”
“I’m confident you will,” he said.
As I rode the elevator to the 25th floor, I scanned the papers and determined Buttercup would have to go. The complaint said she’d been arguing and fighting with her boyfri
end, they’d been so loud that the neighbors had to call the police. It looked like they had taken him to jail.
I sucked my tongue, and shook my head. This was the exact thing I feared would happen when I agreed to help her. Sometimes people thought they wanted help and to change, most of the time they just wasn’t mentally ready to undergo the process.
Wanting to at least give her some respect, I knocked instead of using my key. At first, I didn’t hear anything. Then, I heard some feet shuffling in front of the door and another pause of silence before the locked clicked and the knob turned.
“Hey, Riddles. When you get back?” she asked as I entered the suite.
“A couple days now,” I said while looking around the living room and dining area. “What you been up to?” Everything appeared in place.
“Nothing. Just working and trying to get ahead. Speaking of which, I just want to say thank you for letting me stay here. It’s making life easier.”
“Really? Because from what I’ve heard-”
“What you talking about?” she interrupted.
“Your man got arrested,” I said.
“Huh?” she responded, trying to play stupid. I handed her the complaint.
“Buttercup, you already know what I’m dealing with. I don’t want to have to worry about this over here, too. I told you I didn’t want no bullshit at my spot. You leaving me with no choice but to say fuck you.”
“I swear, Riddles. I wasn’t trying to bring no drama here. He followed me from work. Caught me as I got out the cab and wanted to talk, but I didn’t want to so he got mad. Swore I was staying with some man. I didn’t want to be dealing with him out front. The doorman was already looking, so I told him to come upstairs, hoping he’d just hear me out and leave but he didn’t. When I tried to force him out, we started fighting.”
Buttercup went on to describe the event and the nature of her relationship in detail, depicting how she’s giving so much of herself while receiving nothing in return. She also talked about how he tended to become violent when he didn’t get his way or she tried to leave him. Financially, he dependent totally upon her and she couldn’t get rid of him to save her life. He had even threatened to take hers if he caught her with another man.
So, basically, she was caught up in a sticky situation.
“I hate to add insult to injury but I don't know what you gone do ‘cause you can’t stay here. I can’t afford it. Is he out of jail?”
“He’s out. He from Georgia. Never in any real trouble before so he was able to get a signature bond. He’s been calling my cell phone all day, asking me to drop the charges.”
“See, that’s what I saying. I don’t want him to be coming back around here causing problems.”
“I don’t think he’ll come ‘round here no more,” she said. “He didn’t expect to go to jail that night. I promise though. Riddles, I just need to stay a little while longer so I can save some money. I talked to my mother. She said I can come home.”
“You not worried about him coming up to Joker’s?”
“With the security there, and here,” she looked at me. “I’m safe from him as long as I’m in the club or in the apartment.”
“How much longer do you think you’ll need to stay?”
“Just a couple more weeks. Then, I’m going back to Cleveland.”
“Well, look, you can stay as long as you keep it quiet round here. I ain’t playing though.”
Despite attempting to remain firm, I committed myself to helping her. I sensed she would become a stronger woman if empowered.
Chapter Thirty-Three
During the drive back home, I decided to enjoy the nice weather a bit longer so I stopped by the outside basketball court at Hammond Park to watch some of the brothers play. I pulled in the lot and parked away from the other cars. There were some attractive men on the court. I noticed one of the brothers looked like Diablo. Thoughts of him and his sexiness crept into my mind. Knowing I shouldn’t think about him in that manner, I debated contacting him.
I devilishly pondered being with him then reached my cell phone to find his number.
That’s what I hate about men like him. They are irresistible.
I typed a message.
Where you at? Riddles.
I watched the game and let my mind wander. I thought about myself in another place. I just didn’t know where, but figured it would be as far away from Atlanta as possible. Maybe, just disappearing into thin air so whoever Emerson wouldn’t ever be able to find me.
I didn’t consider myself the kind of person to run from much. But death being around the corner seemed like a bit much to me, more than I could take.
I was just about to start my car and take off when my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen and saw a reply to my text. It read: In Germany. Why? You want to join me? Diablo.
I sat there and responded: Oh, Diablo, it is??? Well, maybe. Maybe not.
Germany, I thought. What’s in Germany besides the autobahn?
Meeting him there seemed fun and spontaneous, and that made the idea intriguing to me. Then I thought about my daughter, Markie, coming home for summer. I didn’t respond.
By the time I pulled out of the parking lot to head home, I needed to smoke. I remembered smoking my last with Buttercup, so I knew I needed to make a stop. I reached for my cell phone and called a weed man I had on speed dial. He didn’t answer. I tried two more but they didn’t answer either. Then, I dialed a guy out in Stone Mountain. He was “dry as a bone” as he put it. I should’ve taken it as a sign to leave it alone but I didn’t. Instead, I called the young guy I knew who lived over in the Bankhead area and hung out in what they called “The Trap.” When I asked him why they called it that, he said, “Cause once you in, you don’t get out.”
Atlanta’s version of public housing, The Trap didn’t seem that bad to me. I thought the King Kennedy, Case Court, Garden Valley, and Morris Black projects in Cleveland were far worse. But evidently, it defined poverty by Atlanta’s standards.
When I called him, he green-lighted me so I hit the highway.
Once I got there, I had to wait on him to come out with my package. As I sat in my car, I constantly checked my surroundings. I did it instinctively. I didn’t want to fall in any “trap.”
I eyed the Burger King across the street in my side mirror, and decided to visit it before jumping back on I-285 to head home. I looked back toward the project building, willing the weed guy to hurry up. I wanted to get back on the road before the evening rush hour started.
And just as the he appeared in the doorway of his apartment, a BMW, Grand Tourismo, with dark tinted windows, pulled up behind me, his car perpendicular to mine, and rolled down his window. I saw the driver again in my side mirror – a young, light skinned boy with dreads.
Shit!
I recognized from Jokers, the young boy who tried to get me to trick with him. He didn’t look my way. My heart went up into my throat. Not knowing what to think, I turned my attention to some of the gadgets on my dashboard, but kept a keen side-eye on him.
“Playa, I’ll be with you in a minute, man. Just let me holla at her real quick.” The weed guy yelled to Dreadlock Guy and pointed to me.
“You got it, playa,” Dreadlock Guy said.
I passed my money out the window and we completed the exchange. As soon as I had the bag in hand, I put my gear in reverse. I wanted to get out of there as quick as possible.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m good,” I said turning around to back up. “Who’s your boy?” I asked.
“That’s my nigga, D-Money,” he said. “Why you want to holla at him?”
“Just admiring the car. ‘Preciate it. Holla at you later.”
I tried to get the license plate, but couldn’t make it out without completely stopping. That would have been too obvious.
Wow, I thought as I pulled off. Is he the same person who pissed off the valet on the night of Malibu’s death, tried to run me off t
he road, bought dances in Joker’s, and the punk who assaulted Buttercup. Is he following me?
I sped off. Seeing him made me nervous so I bypassed the Burger King and frequently checked my rear view mirror as I headed straight to the highway. It wasn’t until I got close to my exit that I breathed a sigh of relief.
As soon as I stepped through the door, the phone rang. I saw Pimp’s cell number.
“What’s up, Sunshine. Everything all right?”
“I’m feeling a little fucked up right now. I can’t shake this shit.” I couldn’t discuss the encounter just yet. I needed to brace myself for the scolding I would surely receive.
“Need me to come back there?” he asked.
“Please.”
“I’ll be there shortly anyway, need to discuss that Beamer issue with you. I think we might be onto something.”
“Bet. When will you be here?”
“Shortly,” he said then we ended the conversation.
I went to my refrigerator, in the safety of my own home, and found something to eat.
Pimp and Pussy arrived in short order, it seemed they must’ve been already in route from her place when he called.
“You gone tell her or you want me to?” Pussy asked no sooner than they walked through the door and sat on the couch. He nodded.
“Sure enough, that blue BMW has been spotted at the Blue Flame and a young dude, who go by ‘D Money’ drives it.”
“D Money,” I repeated.
Pimp interjected. “My peoples say he can’t be no more than twenty, twenty-one, if that. Don’t nobody know too much about him though. New to the area. Trying to make a name for himself. But, he’s a straight up maggot type nigga with a little paper.”
“That phone is a throw away,” said Pussy. “So we still trying to ID him.”
Riddles Page 15