Tavious began to speak again. And once again I cut him off. “They were friends,” I told her. “Nothing more, nothing less.” I gave Tavious a nudging look to tell her more during the brief pause in the conversation, because I was sure Saadia Eussit had had enough of my interruptions even though I couldn’t care less.
“Umm, yeah, he’s right. We were friends. I knew her before I went to prison and we stayed in touch,” Tavious explained to her.
“Only a friendship?”
“That’s all it was,” Tavious responded.
“So, you two didn’t have any type of disagreements pertaining to anything?”
Tavious shook his head no. “Like what?”
“You tell me.”
“No, we didn’t.” Tavious was very blunt.
“The police said her death was caused by beating and shot to the back of the head. Do you know who or why somebody would want to hurt her? Did she ever tell you someone was a threat to her?”
“Never. We talked all the time and she never said anything like that to me.”
“And you talked to her how?”
“Over the phone,” Tavious said.
“Over your cell phone?”
“Let me interject. You mean while you were in prison—right?”
Tavious shot me a look. “Right. That’s right.”
Once again the reporter tightened her eyes toward me.
Tavious turned to her. “Look, I didn’t come down here to answer a bunch of questions. You’re almost like the police,” he tells her. “The only reason I’m here is to tell you that I didn’t have anything to do with the murder of Amara. She was my friend,” he said. “I wanted to let you know this firsthand because I knew it was only a matter of time before you found out that the police questioned me, and I don’t want my name in one of those news articles you write.”
“Well, I had that bit of information already, Tavious,” she said.
“So, why didn’t you print it?” I asked.
“I’ve been around the block a time or two, Pete. That is your name?”
“Yeah, you got it,” I hit back.
“Well, Pete, I know when APD is jerking me around. They gave up his name too easy. They were trying to play me into putting his name in the paper to add pressure. I rarely do such a thing—matter of fact, I’ve only done it once and I was more than sure I was right,” she tells us. Saadia removed her grandma, professor, really stuck-up, reading glasses from her face. It was the first time that we could see that she wasn’t bad looking—beautiful even. She picked up her phone. “I just remembered, I have to make a call,” she said, then got up from her seat and walked near the restroom to make her call.
Tavious followed her with his eyes. “Okay, you can go now,” he told me in a low tone, almost whispering.
“What?”
He looked around the restaurant. “Yeah, you should leave now, West.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked him again. I looked over at the reporter and she was deep into her call. “Are you crazy? She will eat you alive if I leave you two alone.”
Tavious’s tone was still lower than normal. “Don’t count on it. I’m going to say very little.”
“Tavious, what are you talking about?”
“She needs to know that I don’t need you here to be a buffer, man. C’mon, I’ll catch the train back or something,” he declared.
I looked at Tavious, then back at the reporter. “Are you sure?”
“West, I got this, man.”
Chapter 34
When Saddia Eussit the reporter extraordinaire returned to the table she was ready to get back to business.
She noticed within seconds. “Where’s Pete?” Her tone was very sarcastic.
“Oh, he had another meeting. He’s a real busy man,” Tavious said. “So, I guess it’s just you and me.”
Saadia put her glasses back on then wrote down something in her notebook. She looked at Tavious over the rims of her glasses. “Do you think you’re up to it?”
Tavious smiled for the first time and she noticed. “A man who has nothing to hide is up for anything.”
Tavious left the restaurant feeling better than he did going in about his conversation with the reporter. There wasn’t a question that Saadia asked that he didn’t answer that could have implicated him in the murder.
Ms. Eussiet was especially interested in their relationship. Tavious didn’t mind answering those questions because in his mind there was nothing to tell.
Tavious realized without delay that the reporter’s angle was to show that Amara was murdered because some mad, deranged fool was madly in love with her and became upset about something and therefore killed her. But Tavious knew better and let her travel down her own road. He knew it was the two million for sure that killed his friend. When Saadia asked Tavious if he thought she was in love with him, it was really the first time he thought about it instead of dismissing it. He disclosed that it could have been a possibility even though she never directly said that she was.
When Saadia didn’t let go of the love-behind-bars angle Tavious wanted to know if she was writing a romance novel instead of newspaper articles. He mentioned he was probably blind to Amara’s feelings being behind prison walls. He proclaimed without glorifying any aspect of his twenty years behind bars that he was more worried about watching his back than being in love with someone on the outside he couldn’t see whenever he wanted.
Soon after, Saadia began talking about her own career and some of her articles that had both helped put criminals behind bars and free some others just as well. Her degree from Penn State and the graduate work she did there was what got her thirsty for investigative reporting.
Chapter 35
Later the same night Tavious was sleeping in his new apartment above the shop and his phone rang. It sounds off a second time then a third until he was able to get his body to move. Around the eighth or ninth ring he finally picked it up and barely answered.
“Are you sleeping?”
Tavious tried to look at his alarm clock but his eyes won’t focus. He stretched his arms above his head with the phone still in his hand, then moved it back down to his ear. “Of course I am; tomorrow’s Monday,” he struggled to say. He swiped his eyes, trying to focus on the red numbers on his clock; he faintly noticed it was eleven-something.
“So, can you meet me for coffee . . .” he heard a woman’s voice sing.
“What? Who is this?”
“It’s Saadia.”
Even though he wasn’t functioning properly, for some reason he can tell she was smiling on the other end of the phone.
“Just to let you know,” she said, “this is quite frankly out the box for me, but I really would like some company.”
“I’ve already told you all I know.” Tavious looked over at the clock again and can see it a little clearer now: eleven-fifteen. He tried to count the hours he had left for rest. “Listen, I need to get some rest—”
She jumped in and stopped Tavious. “Let’s be clear, Tavious. This isn’t about the murder, it’s about me. I will be at Café Intermezzo for an hour or so. Come see me . . . please.”
Then the phone went dead. Tavious fell back down into the pillow and finally pushed the button on the phone to disconnect the call after he heard the dial tone. Tavious was no stranger to being awakened in the middle of the night, as the prison guards would get their kicks out of waking up the prisoners at all times of the night and tearing up a cell, looking for anything that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Tavious was awake now. He began to debate the pros and cons of her request. A meeting with a smoking-hot news reporter who insisted the meeting was strictly about her was much too intriguing, almost unbelievable. But then again maybe she had found a discrepancy in his story and planned on setting him up when his mind was not completely clear, the same way the police interrogated him in the middle of the night over twenty years ago right before they charged him.
What
ever her reason Tavious called a cab and was downtown close to thirty minutes later. When he walked in, he was surprised to see so many people out on a Sunday night. He spotted Saadia deep in a corner alone. She had just placed her coffee cup up to her lips when she noticed him.
Tavious walked over and was taken aback when Saadia stood to give him a healthy hug. She tells him, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
Tavious looked around the café to see if anyone out of the ordinary may be looking at him then back at Saadia. She smiled right back at him.
“Have you been drinking anything besides that coffee?” he wanted to know.
She shook her head no. “What, would you rather I put my glasses back on and ask you some more questions or something? Sit, let’s enjoy.”
Tavious looked around again then pulled his chair out and sat down. The waiter came over and Tavious asked for house coffee.
“Relax, Tavious,” Saadia pushed. “I figured you would be a little uptight meeting me here. Quite frankly it’s kind of cute. I’m sure you’re not used to a grown and sexy woman calling you in the middle of the night to talk are you?”
Tavious didn’t respond. He was still trying to get over the difference in Saadia Eussit the reporter who had turned into someone different. Very different.
“To be honest with you . . .” She paused as the waiter set his drink down. “To be honest with you, your experience over the last twenty years has sparked my interest,” she divulged.
Tavious smiled at her more like unbelieving of what she seemed to be selling.
“So, tell me, how does it really feel to be out of that prison with all those big, sweaty, grimy men?”
Chapter 36
The morning started off extra busy and all hands were on deck except Tavious. There was a car sitting in his bay, idle. I called upstairs to his apartment at least three times before I had to stop what I was doing to see where he was. As I was walking up the stairs a woman who looked just like Ms. Saadia Eussit was walking down the steps, smoothing out her clothes and patting down her full, fluffy but short haircut on her head. She seemed to be in even more of a rush than I was. I moved aside on the steps and gave her the right of way.
“Hey, Pete,” she said without missing a beat.
I watched her sashay down the steps leading to the parking lot then get in her car and drive away. The door to the apartment was still open and I noticed Tavious standing in his underwear without a shirt.
“Good morning,” he said, with the biggest smile I have ever seen on a grown-ass man.
Chapter 37
Rossi just so happened to be in my office when I went back down into the shop.
“What’s wrong, bro? You look flustered.”
I moved behind my desk and told him all was good. I could feel Rossi following me with wondering eyes. I begged him not to ask. I picked up the morning parts list, approved it with a quick glance, and called out to the shop to let them know it was ready.
Rossi got a bottle of water out of my refrigerator then cracked it open. “Look, man, the trail on this two million dollars is as cold as this water. No talk, no chat, nothing. I’ve canvassed my poker games about it so much that I’m beginning to get strange looks. Maybe that money is long gone by now.”
After what I’d just witnessed upstairs in the apartment I didn’t know what to think anymore. Tavious and the reporter getting it on? It was definitely not part of the plan to clear his name or at the least not have it placed in the paper during the police investigation. My first instinct when I saw her with her coy little smile was that she had gotten some information from Tavious that she couldn’t wait to get into the next edition of the paper.
When I finally get Rossi off my back Tavious walks in my office wearing jeans. His shirt was buttoned halfway and his shoes were untied.
Rossi scanned him over once he walked in. “Problems getting dressed, T?”
Tavious blew him off and looked directly at me. “West, it just happened. She called me last night, asked me to meet her for a second time. We had coffee, chatted, and the next thing I knew we were back at my place, buck-naked nonstop, until five minutes before you came up to check on me,” he said.
Rossi’s eyes perked up. “Aww, shit, this is my type of conversation.”
“The reporter, Tavious?” That’s all I could say.
“The reporter you guys met with last night?” Rossi wanted to know.
“The one and only,” I tell him.
Rossi looked at me then at Tavious.
“Man, it’s been over twenty years—what do you expect me to do, turn it down?”
“You got a point there,” Rossi said. “So, is it true, you never forget?” Rossi smiled.
Tavious smiled almost in remembrance. “Never, man. Believe that.”
“Let’s try to forget about the sex and focus. Did you tell her anything that can get you put in jail? I can’t believe you just slept with the reporter investigating the case of a murder that you have been questioned about.”
Tavious said, “Nothing. There was very little talking.” Then he smiled.
“My man . . .” Rossi interjected. “Look, it may not be that bad,” Rossi said. “At least now he can keep an eye on her just as much as she can him. You have to work this to your advantage, man. Get her on your side.”
I could understand where Rossi was coming from.
“I don’t know. This lady is fire,” Tavious said. “Why would I waste the chance of being with her, trying to keep her close to me, when I might want to be with her?”
“Be with her?” I questioned.
Rossi pointed his bottle of water at Tavious. “Yeah, you have been locked away for twenty years,” Rossi said. “Brother, trust me, a one-night stand does not mean a chick wants to be with you. It’s a new day; they are as bad as us,” Rossi said.
“Sometimes worse,” I let him know.
Chapter 38
Tavious was wide open now. He was so excited about spending time with Saadia the reporter that he invited her to dinner with his mother and Ely the very same night.
“And you two met when?” Joyce asked the lustful couple sitting across from her after witnessing the fourth or fifth thirty-second tonsil-checking, tongue-twisting kiss shared between Saadia and Tavious.
“Last night,” Tavious said; then he kisses the reporter on her lips again without hesitation.
She smiled and grabbed his ear. “Umm, actually it was yesterday, but we met again last night.” She moved her hand down his neck then says, “Over and over again.”
Ely hadn’t said much the entire night but watching these two was priceless. The smile on his face as he watched Tavious fill up Saadia at every moment was rewarding in more ways than one. There was no doubt that she was a looker. Probably could have been a model if she wanted to with her beautiful olive skin tone. There actually hadn’t been a man who walked past them who didn’t notice how lovely she was.
Saadia definitely didn’t disappoint socially. Sharing so much about her family background of being raised in Newark, New Jersey by a single mom and applying to Penn State on a dare was interesting stuff. Her decision to never have children and instead live life to the fullest extent with no regrets was refreshing and understandable. She told everyone when she died she wanted to say to herself what a ride. She had a moment though as the wine and conversation got to her. She told everyone her mother never finished high school and the struggle of keeping clothes on their backs admittedly traumatized her so much that she never wanted to have to endure that type of struggle again with a child of her own.
“So, Joyce, you get two thumbs up for putting this dinner together,” she lets her know.
Joyce and Ely smile. Proud. Carrabba’s Italian Grill was one of their favorite places to eat. They were happy that everyone was enjoying themselves.
“This just shows how deep love is. Nothing, not even twenty years can keep loved ones apart. Simply amazing,” Saadia believed.
; Joyce smiled. She almost let her guard down to talk about Amara but quickly decided against it. She was not as willing to let Saadia in as quickly as Tavious and overly admiring Ely. She wasn’t clear of her intentions. For all she knows she was willing to give up anything to pin the murder of Amara on her son.
When the reporter excused herself to the ladies’ room Joyce made her thoughts known without any hesitation. She double-checked to make sure the reporter was nowhere around before she spoke on it. “Tavious?”
Tavious looked up from his drink with a smile on his face.
“What is going on with this woman? You mean to tell me you have hooked up with the reporter investigating the murder?”
Tavious smiled again. “Well, by the way it’s going it sure is a possibility,” he mentioned.
Ely clinched his fist and gave Tavious a pound.
“No, no, you fools. You don’t know her from Adam. She might be setting you up.”
“Setting me up?”
“That’s right.”
“How can she set me up when I didn’t do anything?”
Ely interrupted. “He has a point there. If you are innocent, walking around like it and having her on your arm is at least telling anyone who thinks otherwise that you’re not hiding a damn thing,” he said.
This time Tavious initiated the pound.
“I’m just saying it’s different out here now; plus, you’ve never ever been in a relationship,” Joyce schooled.
“At least not with a woman,” Ely joked.
Tavious is feeling too good at this point to get upset and waves Ely off. “I know the guys at the shop already told me, but I trust her; she’s cool.”
“Well, at least try to keep what you tell her to a minimum. Especially anything about me.”
“You?”
“Yes, me—have you forgotten that I went over to see Amara right before you found out that she was dead? I don’t want her asking me questions about anything because if she wrote that in the paper the police would think I had something to do with it.”
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