Uncorked

by Lois Greiman

  Another shrug, but then she snagged her sandwich and stood up. “Come on,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “You’re going to take me to get my shit.”

  “What?”

  “My shit,” she said, “In Westlake.”

  I was shaking my head even before she quit speaking. “Now’s not the time. The police aren’t going to want us messing up the crime scene.”

  “It’s not a crime scene, Sherlock. Case you forgot, Drag tried to kill us at the Blue Fox.”

  “Technically that’s true,” I admitted regretfully. “But I still think they won’t want us to—”

  “Technically I saved your ass,” she said, “so go get your damn keys.”

  I considered arguing, but I've never been comfortable being the sensible one. It had rubbed me wrong since the day I shed my diaper and took off across Fernbrook Avenue at warp speed. The ensuing spanking had taught me little.

  In a minute we were in my car.

  Outside the little Saturn’s windows it was blacker than sin.

  “I still don’t understand why you decided to go to the Blue Fox,” I said.

  “You think I’m illiterate?” she asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw your doodling by the phone. Julio. Imp. Blue Fox. All that.”

  I nodded, but I really wasn’t following her line of thinking very well.

  “It’s a major hangout for folks who are looking to get themselves killed,” she added.

  “I didn’t want to get myself killed.”

  “Well, you sure as hell act like it. When you come running that time Micky shot Jackson…” She shook her head. “I thought you must have had a thing for him. But then you do the same thing when I call.”

  I gave her a nonchalant shrug.

  She scowled, seeming to try to figure me out. “You come running when every nigger bitch calls?”

  I raised my brows. “It’s not emotionally healthy to call yourself names.”

  “Yeah, well…” She sighed and glanced through the windshield, peering into the night. “You call me that and I guarantee it won’t lengthen your life.”

  The hum of my engine was all that was heard for a while. That and my own roiling thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I said finally, and turned to look at her.

  She shrugged. “Could be I owed you one.”

  “Could be you owed me a couple,” I said, and she snorted. “So what now?”

  “Now I go pick up my stuff.”

  “You won’t stay there?”

  She shuddered visibly. “Drag, he got friends round there.”

  “You’re welcome to stay with me until you get on your feet.”

  She chuckled. “If you knew how unsteady my legs was, you wouldn’t offer.”

  The little Saturn hummed on. No one spoke for a moment, then, “But I did,” I said.

  She shook her head. “You and me, we don’t sing in the same choir. This time next year you’ll probably be on some big-ass book tour with…“ She paused. “What the hell’s his name?”

  I sighed. “Damn if I know.”

  She chuckled. “Well…you’ll be with some rich somebody, and I’ll be poppin’ out a new kid.”

  “Tired of your old ones already?”

  She laughed. The sound was a little off. I glanced over, but she was staring out the passenger window again. The neighborhood was deteriorating rapidly. I took a right onto Wilton.

  “I’m good at making babies.”

  “Maybe you’d be good at practicing law, too.”

  One shoulder lifted a little. “Folks from the hood stay in the hood.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be what Micky Goldenstone thinks.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Micky ain’t got no time for me.”

  It took nearly a half a minute for reality to finally strike me. When it did, I felt a little bit like an idiot. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to realize she had feelings for him. “How long have you been mooning over Micky?”

  There was a long pause, then, “God, I hate this neighborhood.”

  “Lavonn—” I began but she interrupted me.

  “Pull up here and let’s get this over with.”

  She seemed a little jumpy as we traipsed up the walkway to the door. Jumpier still as she shoved her key into the lock. In a moment we were inside. She had only been absent a few hours, but the place looked the worse for it. Dirty dishes had been left on the table. Broken shards of glass lay on the floor, only half swept up by the nearby broom. Towels, several of them spotted with blood, were heaped on the counter, and the all-important cleaning drawer was open, showcasing enough chemical cleansers to cause an asthmatic epidemic.

  I swallowed my revulsion and turned my gaze away from the towels. “What are we taking?” I asked.

  “Anything we want,” she said.

  “Are you sure that’s legal? Maybe the police will want to have a look at things first.”

  She stared at me. Her eyes showed a lot of white around the irises, making her tough-guy act seem a little suspect, but she marched into a little room off the kitchen. Returning with a laundry basket of neatly folded clothes, she dumped the contents onto the floor. “You trying to be a saint, or what?”

  In the entirety of my life I was pretty sure I had never been threatened with being canonized. Threatened with being shot out of a canon, sure. “Yes,” I said, “Saint Christina.”

  She chuckled as she headed toward the stairs. “Well, Your Sainthood, you start in the kitchen. Pack up anything that ain’t growing fuzz.”

  In the end, that didn’t amount to too much. But I did find an un-fuzzy box of Whoppers in the cupboard above the stove. I had just popped a pair into my mouth when a torpedo erupted from the counter. I jumped and squawked, spewing gobs of chocolate and malt.

  “What!” Lavonn appeared in the doorway, eyes wide as softballs, but I was frozen in place. She shot her gaze to the offending counter, then strode purposefully across the floor to dig around under the mess of towels. A cell phone lay there buzzing like a bee.

  Our gazes met.

  “It’s Drag’s,” she said, and lifted it from the counter.

  “You’re not supposed to touch that.”

  “Uh huh,” she said, and turned it face up.

  “Who’s it from?” I asked.

  Her brows lowered. “Vanessa.”

  I watched her, breath held.

  “Vanessa Valdez.” She put down the phone, stared at it. “When he’d get high, he’d accuse me of fooling around on him.”

  The phone quit ringing. The house was silent as only a dead house can be. Somewhere outside, an engine revved.

  “I always thought he was seeing other girls on the side. But when I said as much…” She paused, absently rubbed her arm. “Funny thing was, I didn’t even care.”

  “People often project their own sins onto others,” I said.

  She raised her brows. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Perhaps he felt guilty for cheating on you and allowed himself to believe you were the guilty party, thus—”

  She coughed a laugh. “You get paid for shoveling that shit?”

  “It isn’t—”

  “How much?”

  “What?”

  “How much you get paid?”

  “It’s not shit.”

  She snorted. “First off, Drag never felt guilty a day in his life. Second…” She picked up the phone, snapped it open and pressed a button. A moment later her scowl deepened. “Hell. There must be five calls here from that Vanessa chick.” She scrolled down. “Two from Aggie. And three from some poor fool named Erica.”

  “Put it down, Lavonn. Eric said it’s evidence.”

  “Well, Eric…” She scowled. “Eric Albertson.” Our eyes met with a snap.

  “Eric A,” I said, staring at the phone.

  “Shit!” She breathed the word.

  My muscles were frozen
but I forced my hand to dig my cell from the back pocket of my jeans. “What’s the number?”

  Her hand was shaking as she punched a button and read off the digits. It took me a moment to scroll down to the last call I’d gotten from Officer Albertson.

  “It’s a shame,” someone said from the hallway.

  We jumped in unison. Lavonn squawked. I bumped into her, backing away just as Eric Albertson stepped into view.

  Chapter 28

  Most folks are just alive ’cause you get in deep shit when you shoot ’em.

  —Dion Templeton, minutes before his mother confiscated his Glock

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out.” Eric stood very still, his handsome face calm, his beautiful eyes sorrowful.

  “Holy shit!” Lavonn jerked back, then steadied herself on the open cleaning drawer.

  “What’re you doing here?” My words weren’t quite as articulate as Lavonn’s. Maybe it was because he was holding a gun in his hand.

  Lavonn was also staring, but her mind seemed to be clinking along at a faster pace than mine. “You was Drag’s ace, wasn’t you?” she asked.

  He tilted his head at her. “What’s that?”

  “Drag said he had an ace in the hole. That was you, wasn’t it? The reason he always knew when to pack up the drugs and get out. When to shut down an operation.”

  “What?” I backed up a step, shock shimmying through my system. “What are you talking about?”

  Eric gave me his million-dollar smile, then shrugged at Lavonn. “Your boy was useful. But he was volatile and unpredictable. Hell, you never knew when a simple mugging was going to turn into a car wash murder.”

  I swallowed. “You made him do that?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I thought if anybody could scare off a nosy bitch like you it'd be Drag. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when you said you didn’t have a clue who attacked you." He chuckled. "He was a mean little bastard. But”—he stared pointedly at Lavonn’s still-healing bruises—“you already know that, don’t you? Hell, I’d think you’d be kissing my ass for getting rid of him instead of snooping through his stuff.”

  “Was you the one shot Jackson then?”

  He shrugged. “If I had known he was going to find religion in the pen I maybe would have let things slide, but after all the work I've done to build up Intensity's clientele it just wouldn't be right for him to take over my territory. I didn't want to waste any time. Wanted to get to him right away. You know what they say about the early bird." He laughed. "I got a clean shot through his window. Got away. If some fucking neighbor hadn't called in a disturbance I would have done us all a favor. Course, I guess it was the same nosy bastard that reported seeing Rivera's Jeep parked around the corner. So I can't be too steamed." He laughed as if we were discussing a missed appointment or a tennis match.

  “You framed him," I said, but he shook his head.

  “Coggins hates his guts and had gotten some of the other guys a little fired up. He was being favored because of his old man. That sort of thing. Personally, I always thought your boyfriend was an okay guy. He'd just been asking too many questions. Wondering why the drug raids weren't turning out to the department’s satisfaction. I thought I might have to put a bullet in his head, too, but this'll turn out all right. Hell, maybe he and I can bond while mourning your death together. You and your little black nemesis there. See?” He tilted the pistol a little. “This is the same gun that shot Andrews. Looks like Lavonn got her hands on it and killed you so they'll figure it must have been Drag's. But you’re a scrapper, aren’t you, Christina? You won’t go down without a fight.”

  “You can’t kill us,” Lavonn said.

  He canted his head at her as if he were merely inquisitive. “Why’s that?”

  “Yeah.” My voice was little more than a squeak to my own ears. My neck creaked when I turned toward her. “Why is that?”

  “Because no one will never believe it.”

  “Oh, they will,” he said, smiling at her for the first time. “It’s common knowledge that your change in fortune is her fault.”

  She stared at him.

  “If she hadn’t gotten involved, you would still be with that good-looking and newly religious Jackson Andrews.”

  She glanced at me, brows lowering.

  “Still have that snazzy little sports car.”

  She tightened her lips. “I loved that car,” she said.

  “Still have that house in Glendale instead of slumming it like an eastside whore.”

  “It had rosewood banisters,” she said, and turned toward me like one in a trance. “I picked out the stain myself.”

  Fresh panic sizzled through me. “Listen, Lavonn—”

  “You know that?” she asked, and took a step toward me. “I picked out the damn stain myself.”

  “Lavonn, what are you doing?” I asked, and sidled away, but my back was already against the wall. “It’s not—”

  “I got nothing left.”

  “Lavonn…”

  “I got nothing!” she shrieked, and lunged at me.

  Her shoulder hit my left boob like a freight train. The air left my lungs in a hard whoosh of pain. My ass hit the floor a fraction of a second later. She yanked at my hair. I rolled over and pinned her for a second. But she was as wiry as a jacked-up terrier. A jerk and a screech and she was on top again. Screaming. Flailing. Fingers tearing. Fists flying. I rolled again, fighting my way to the top.

  She lay beneath me, panting hard, and in that splintered second our gazes met. Something flashed between us, something as primitive as fear, as deadly as PMS. There was the slightest pause. I held my breath, unsure, and then I dove at Albertson. I hit him in the knees with the full force of my weight. He staggered backward, trying to bring the gun to bear, but Lavonn was right behind me, snatching up the broom as she leapt. She struck him with the handle. The pistol soared from his hand. She lunged after it, but so did he. I grabbed his arm. He swung toward me. His fist exploded against my left ear. I staggered backward, head spinning. My hip hit the floor a second before a gun fired. I jerked. Lavonn screamed.

  Albertson grunted. Then he stumbled lethargically backward. It took me a lifetime to realize Lavonn had pulled the trigger. Longer still to understand that the bullet had plowed a harmless path into the wall behind him.

  “Stay where you are!” she shrieked. Her hands were shaking like leaves in the wind.

  He laughed. I stabbed my attention from her to him as he took a step forward. “You’re lucky you didn’t hit me, Lavonn,” he said. His voice was singsong. “You know what happens to little black girls who injure police officers.”

  “Don’t you come no closer!” Her voice was shrill, her body stiff.

  He smiled his beatific smile. “They’d throw you in jail for the rest of your life,” he said. “What would happen to your precious babies?”

  She shook her head, looking wild.

  “Come on,” he said, still advancing, “we can work something out. You’re a smart girl and I bet… I just bet you can keep your mouth shut.”

  “I don’t wanna lose my babies.”

  “I know. I know you don’t,” he said.

  “What about her?” she asked, and jerked a nod toward me.

  He shrugged. “She’s a nosy bitch,” he said. “And she did cause the trouble between you and Jackson.”

  “She did that.”

  “Lavonn…” I said.

  He smiled again. “I’d understand if you had to get rid of her. Hell…I’d call it self-defense. We could say she was having an affair with Drag and got jealous. With her gone, we could split the full profits.”

  “So you got control of the goods?”

  “Every ounce.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” she said. “What other cops got dibs?”

  He snorted. “The whole fucking force is a bunch of pansy-asses.”

  “So with Drag gone, Intensity’s all yours.”

  “That’s right. But I’m
willing to share. You could have your house back, Lavonn. Your babies. Your life.”

  “You’d protect me if I take her out?” she asked. Her eyes were as steady as steel on me. I was frozen in place.

  “You have my word. Do it,” he crooned, but in that second she glanced toward the cleaning cabinet.

  “I hope to hell you guys heard that,” she said.

  He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Get down on your knees,” she ordered, raising the gun a little.

  “What’s going on?”

  “The cops are on their way right now.”

  He stared at her, face blank, and then he went pale. “You’re lying.”

  She swallowed, adjusted her stance. “I got a little unit taped right there beside the Pledge,” she said. “Only place Drag would never look.”

  “You’re fucking lying!” he screamed, and then he leapt at her.

  She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just shot him dead center through the forehead.

  Chapter 29

  Breaking up is like being pooped on by a wood duck. Divorce is like being pecked to death by the wood duck.

  —Donald Archer, shortly after his first divorce

  My throat hurt and my eyes stung.

  “So…did you love him?” Lavonn asked. She was sitting at my kitchen table, eating my ice cream…again.

  “No.”

  “How come you're crying then?”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “Then your eyeballs are leaking.”

  “That’s because you’re eating my ice cream,” I said, and snatched the carton out from under her spoon. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  She watched me in silence for a second. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, and stabbed the unoffending ice cream with my fork.

  “It’s hard to get dumped.”

  “I told you, I didn’t get dumped,” I said. “I broke up with him.”

  She smiled a little. “What was his name, anyway?”

  I shoved the spoon into my mouth and spoke around it. “Dr. Marcus Carlton.” And all of a sudden his name was clear as a bell. “He’s an author.”