Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Jake studied him in awe. A plate of chopped tomatoes sat on the counter next to the blender. “And you are?”

  “Peyton’s best friend, Abe Jefferson. I know she’s told you all about me.”

  At that moment, Pickles bounded into the kitchen. Abe swooped down on him and picked him up, holding him over his head. Pickles’ tail was whirling like a propeller and Abe began kissing him on the nose with smacking, enthusiastic affection.

  “And here’s my big boy!”

  Jake blinked his eyes in bewilderment. “Um, how did you get in?”

  Abe lowered the dog and gave Jake an equally astonished look. “My keys, of course.”

  Jake turned and looked toward the door as Abe put Pickles down and picked up the tray of tomatoes. “Would you like some bruschetta? It’s absolutely delightful. I used fresh basil from my garden. It’s to die for.” He ended the last in a high falsetto.

  Jake reached for a piece, watching Abe go through Peyton’s cabinets and piling things on the counter. “What are you doing?”

  Abe looked up over the rim of the counter. “I’m making Sex on the Beach. You’ll love it. Now where did Peyton put those precious umbrellas we bought last time? Peyton?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she?”

  Jake blinked again. What the hell was going on? “She went out with Devan.”

  “Oh, the delicious DA. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve seen him, right? He’s absolutely delicious.”

  “I don’t really look at men like that.”

  Abe made a scoffing noise. “You’re so straight you can’t tell a handsome man when you see one?”

  Jake opened his mouth to respond, but decided against it. He put the bruschetta in his mouth instead. It really was good, the tomatoes succulent and the basil a pungent splash of flavor on his tongue.

  “To die for, isn’t it?” said Abe, wrinkling his nose.

  At that moment, the door opened and Marco stepped through. He carried a six pack of beer in one hand and a pizza box in the other. Pickles scrambled across the floor to him and began bouncing up and down.

  “Ryder,” Marco said, setting the pizza on the counter.

  “Adonis.”

  Abe’s head popped up again. “Adonis? And you can’t tell a pretty man when you see one?” he scolded Jake.

  “What the hell is this?” asked Marco, pointing at the bruschetta.

  Abe gave him an arch look. “Are you really going to tell me you don’t recognize bruschetta, my Italian Stallion?”

  “I thought we were doing pizza.” Marco lifted the lid on the box.

  Jake rose on his tiptoes and looked at it. Then he frowned.

  Marco caught the look. “What?”

  “I just never expected you to pick vegetarian.” When Marco and Abe both gave him questioning looks, he shrugged. “You know, bad-ass cop routine…”

  “What? Because I don’t like eating dead animals, I’m not manly.”

  “Uh…”

  Marco scowled, then bent down and picked up Pickles. The little dog immediately melted into his arms.

  Jake realized he was staring.

  Marco sat down on the bar stool. “What? You hate dogs too, Ryder.”

  Jake ventured a step closer, so he could see what Abe was doing. “No, Pickles and I have a great fondness for one another.”

  Abe started pouring liquids into a cocktail shaker. “Where did Peyton put those umbrellas?”

  “What umbrellas?” asked Marco.

  “For the drinks.”

  “What the hell are you making?”

  “Sex on the Beach,” said Abe, continuing to pour.

  Jake climbed on a barstool, feeling tentative and confused. He really wasn’t sure what the hell was happening.

  “Where is Brooks?” Marco looked around the living room.

  “She went out with the DA,” offered Jake.

  “You know what DA stands for?” asked Abe, lifting the shaker.

  Jake shook his head.

  “Delicious Ass.” He laughed as he shook the drinks. “Get it, Angel’D.”

  “I get it. I always get it, Abe.”

  Abe peeled off into ridiculous laughter. Jake could see the corners of Marco’s mouth twitching upward. He wanted to laugh himself, it was all so strange.

  Marco reached across the counter and pulled off a beer. He held it out to Jake. “Want one?”

  Jake started to reach for it, but Abe shook a finger at him.

  “Uh uh uh, you’re having what I’m making.”

  Jake glanced between the two of them, then shrugged.

  “It’s your funeral,” said Marco, ominously.

  * * *

  Devan lived on Beach Street in a condominium that overlooked the Golden Gate. He could walk down to the Marina and Crissy Field or over to the Palace of Fine Arts whenever he wanted. The façade of the building sported a tamed-down Gothic Revival architecture with arched windows and gables along the roof. His condo was on the top floor, three stories from the street. The elevator was papered in a metallic print that reflected the light from the small chandelier in the ceiling.

  The condo itself had been remodeled, reflecting Devan’s more modern tastes. The front door opened onto one room with a vaulted ceiling, a combination living room/kitchen painted in stunning glacial white. Strange red-leather furniture, with round rows piled up on top of each other to make the back, sat at angles in the center of the room. A plush white shag rug lay beneath a rectangular metal box that functioned as a coffee table. Two lamps occupied either end of the couches, the shades looking like a collection of white barnacles on the bottom of a ship. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows were bare, but the view beyond them took one’s breath away. The Golden Gate, in all of her rust-red glory, shown in the foggy night air.

  The counters in the kitchen were marble, the dark veining contrasting with the glossy white of the cabinets. The stove, refrigerator and dishwasher were of the highest quality, their stainless steel surfaces gleaming. Peyton wandered over to the counter and ran her hand across the cold marble.

  “How did you like dinner?” Devan asked, removing his suit jacket. He draped it over the back of the red couch.

  “It was very good. I haven’t been to Japan Town in years.”

  “Can I get you some wine?”

  “Sure.”

  Peyton leaned on the counter as he crossed behind it, opening a cabinet and pulling out two glasses. He bent down and opened a beverage refrigerator, grabbing a full bottle and setting it on the counter. He reached into a drawer and lifted out a wine opener. There were no other utensils in the drawer.

  “Have you ever cooked in here?”

  Devan glanced around at the sparkling appliances. “No. I’ve catered parties, but that’s about it.”

  “You never cook?”

  Devan shook his head. “Can’t see the need. Do you cook?” He tore the foil off the bottle and attached the bottle opener. With a push of the handle, the cork came out of the bottle.

  Peyton gave a laugh. “Almost every night. I’m a cop, remember? Not much left over after the mortgage gets paid.”

  He filled the two glasses, then passed one to her. “I’d be willing to change that for you, if you’d let me.”

  Peyton paused with the glass halfway to her mouth. She didn’t know how to respond to that. She should have guessed something like this was coming. They’d been dating for about six months now. Still, she wasn’t sure how to react.

  She took a sip of her wine and looked down at the veining in the marble.

  “You don’t have to tell me tonight,” he said, “but I just thought I’d put it out there.”

  “I appreciate it.” She forced herself to look at him. “I can’t even imagine living in a place like this.” She could imagine what Pickles might do to his pristine white shag rug.

  He reached over and took her han
d. “Think about it, all right? We’re good together, Peyton. I’d be happy knowing I was coming home to you.”

  Oh, she wanted to say yes. She wanted to just jump into the deep end and hope for the best, but her voice caught in her throat and she said nothing, just stared at him. After a moment, he looked down and reached for his glass.

  Peyton lifted her own and took a long swallow, closing her eyes against the panicked fluttering of her heart.

  * * *

  El Griego put his hand under Magdalena’s chin and lifted her face. She wanted to cringe away from him, but she didn’t. It only made him madder and then he was sure to strike her. He gave her a smile. On anyone else it would have eased her fear, but on him it was terrifying.

  “You did good, chica. El Viento, he liked you.”

  She caught Felix’s expression behind his cousin. He glared at her, then turned away. She didn’t know what he had to be mad about. He’d betrayed her, not the other way around. And now she was just trying to survive.

  El Griego squeezed her chin. He always exerted his physical power over her, making sure she knew what he would do to her if she stepped out of line again. “You earned a little freedom for that, chica. What you say? You happy?”

  She nodded, hoping he’d release her. He did and she looked down, but her eyes landed on the handle of the gun sticking out of his belt. How many times had she imagined herself grabbing it and shoving the barrel in his face?

  “You got two hours. You come back on time, I give you more. You don’t come back…” He leaned over her, breathing in her ear. “I hunt you down.”

  Magdalena didn’t lift her eyes. She could feel the warmth of his breath and it sent a shiver down her spine. He would hunt her down. She knew it.

  “You better go,” he said.

  Magdalena scrambled to her feet and raced to the bedroom he let her and the other girls share. She’d been given a drawer where she kept the stolen Bible and her few clothes. She pulled open the drawer and searched through it for something appropriate to wear.

  Venus came to the door and leaned against the jam. “Where you gonna go for your two hours?”

  Magdalena found a pair of jeans. The knee was torn, but at least it covered her body, and a t-shirt that had a picture of a hummingbird on the front. It was long enough to cover her midriff.

  “Church,” she answered, looking at the clock. It was almost eleven. She could just make it.

  “You gonna waste your two hours on church?”

  Magdalena pulled the clothes from the drawer and hurried back into the hall for the bathroom. No matter what had happened to her, she still wasn’t comfortable dressing in front of everyone.

  She paused at the entrance. “For two hours, I’ll be safe. For two hours, I’ll have peace.”

  Venus leaned against the wall, watching Magdalena. She rubbed a hand down her arm. Venus was so thin, Magdalena feared she’d shrivel up and disappear one day. “Sounds nice.”

  “You want to come?”

  Venus looked toward the main room where male voices could be heard. They were watching some sporting event, soccer probably, on the television. “Why the hell not,” she said.

  Magdalena nodded at her clothes. “You’ll need to change. Do you have anything appropriate?”

  “I’ll look.”

  A few minutes later they were on the street. Magdalena walked as fast as she could. She’d seen the church the other day when El Griego took her out and she’d wanted desperately to come back. The arched windows, the tan concrete blocks, and the unimposing sign saying Glide Memorial Methodist Church – all had beckoned her in.

  A line of people were waiting to go inside and she pulled Venus to the back of it with her. Venus looked up at the towering front. “Glide? I thought you were Catholic?”

  “This will do,” said Magdalena, clutching Venus’ arm in excitement. “You think they’ll let us in?”

  Venus gave her an arch look. “They let everyone in. It’s their thing. I heard famous people sit in them seats with homeless guys.”

  “They’re called pews,” corrected Magdalena, moving forward in the line.

  “Whatever. They’ll even feed you here.”

  An elegantly dressed black woman stood at the doorway and welcomed people in, clasping their hand in both of her own. “Welcome to Glide,” she said as people passed her. “Welcome to Glide.”

  Magdalena took her hand, smiling at her. Her heart was filled to bursting, she was so happy to be here.

  “Welcome to Glide, child. The Reverend Josiah James is giving the sermon today. He’s visiting from New York. It’s bound to be a beautiful service.”

  “Thank you,” said Magdalena and allowed the woman to hand her inside. She tugged Venus behind her and they crossed the vestibule into the vaulted sanctuary. People filled the pews, but they found one in the back, sliding into it. Everyone was standing and the choir performed on risers directly behind the altar.

  People swayed to the music or sang. The words of the hymn were scrolled across a giant screen behind the choir. The sound filled the space and spilled out, a glorious cacophony of joy and forgiveness.

  Magdalena closed her eyes and swayed with the music, letting it fill her, imagining it washing away all of the taint and filth of her present life. Then it ended and silence filled the sanctuary. Opening her eyes, Magdalena watched a handsome black man in a beautiful robe step up to the pulpit. He stood for a moment and looked over the congregation, smiling. His teeth were brilliant against his dark skin, his smile genuine and kind, asking nothing.

  “Welcome brothers and sisters,” he said, holding out his arms.

  A murmur of ‘welcome brother’ followed him.

  “I am Reverend Josiah James and I come from New York City.”

  More murmurs.

  “The kind Reverend Cecil Williams asked me here to speak and I am honored to share the blessings of this beautiful Sunday with you all.”

  A number of ‘amens’ could be heard.

  “Today…today, I want to talk about sin.”

  Magdalena felt her heart catch. His voice boomed in the vaulted room, echoed by a number of people saying ‘yes sir’ and ‘mmhmm’, but Magdalena felt as if he were speaking for her alone.

  “Yes, my brothers and sisters, sin is real and sin is alive. It is in our cities, it is in our homes, and let me tell you something, my children, it is in our hearts.”

  “Amen, amen, brother,” came a smattering of shouts.

  Venus fidgeted beside her, but Magdalena ignored her.

  The reverend swept his hand across the congregation, touching every one of them. “There isn’t a one of us who escapes it. There isn’t a one of us who isn’t a sinner. As Jesus Christ Almighty said himself, ‘He among you who is without sin, let him first cast a stone.’” He swept his hand back. “He among you who is without sin, let him first cast a stone.” He paused to let his words sink in.

  “Matthew 7:2-5 tells us, ‘For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.’ For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged.”

  He flashed his smile, beaming on all of them. “The only judge is God. He is the only one who can evaluate our lives, but yet sin is upon us. Sin is everywhere. We turn on the television, we find sin. We turn on the internet, we find sin. We go to the movie, we find sin.” He leaned on the pulpit. “We walk out our doors, we find sin.”

  “Well, if we are not to judge others and we are all sinners, what are we to do about it? How do we fight it? How do we purify our lives?”

  “Tell us, brother,” said someone to their right.

  “I’ll tell you, sister,” said the reverend. “We must take the righteous upon us. We must believe in God’s direction. We must fight against the tyranny of sinful pleasures corrupting our bodies and our minds. We must take back our cities, we must take back our homes….” He pointed at them all and Magdalena felt certain he was pointing at her. “We must tak
e back our hearts.”

  The room erupted in amens and shouting.

  “But how, you ask me? How can I take back my heart?” He leaned over the pulpit and stared out at them. “How?”

  “I’ll tell you how. I’ll tell you how, brothers and sisters. We’ve got to stop abuses. We’ve got to stop the bullies in our schools, the predators in our homes, and the hopelessness and poverty on our streets. We’ve got to turn aside from pornography; we’ve got to turn aside from sex addiction; we’ve got to turn aside from alcoholism and drug addiction. If we purify our bodies, we will purify our minds. If we take care of ourselves, we will take care of our sin.”

  He rose to his full height and raised his arms over his head. “We have got to say no more to gangsters on our streets, no more to hunger and homelessness, no more to drug dealers and whores, no more to drive-bys and murders. We’ve got to say no more to hopelessness and despair.”

  “Amen, amen, amen,” shouted the people.

  He brought his hands down and held them out over the congregation. “Or I promise you we will perish.”

  Magdalena realized that tears were streaming down her face and she had the crucifix clasped so tightly in her hand that it cut into her palm. ‘We will perish.’ His words echoed in her head. ‘We will perish.’

  CHAPTER 12

  Jake shambled into the kitchen the next morning, looking blurry and disheveled. Peyton could guess the reason by the cocktail shaker and empty bottles of vodka and beer in the recycle bin.

  She settled Pickles’ bowl on the floor and the little dog launched himself into it, eating as if he didn’t remember the last time. “Good morning.”

  He gave her a squint eyed look and plopped down on the stool. “Nothing good about it.”

  She passed a steaming mug of coffee across the counter to him. “What happened in here?”

  “Apparently, your best friend and Adonis thought you needed cheering up, so they dropped by.”

  Peyton leaned back and looked into the recycle bin. “You didn’t consume whatever unmentionable drink Abe concocted, did you?”

  “I did. It was called Sex in the Surf or something.”