by Stacy-Deanne
“We’re looking for a stripper named G-Spot,” Connie said. “Is she here tonight?”
“That’s G right there.” The bartender gestured toward a shapely, olive-tone Asian woman with long, luxurious jet-black hair.
She leaned against a table with her hand around the man in a suit.
“She doesn’t look busy,” the bartender said. “Better get her while you can. She’s our superstar. The regulars love her.” He went to the other end of the bar as they headed toward G-Spot.
“Ooh.” Dee sniffed, wringing out her hands. “I feel like I’ve been bathing in someone’s coochie.”
Connie scowled. “Ewe.”
Topless waitresses rolled through the tables on skates, wearing bow ties and silver thongs with tassels.
G-Spot whispered to the man she was hugging, and he glanced at Connie and Dee, grinning.
“Hello there, Officers.” G-Spot did a military salute. “What can I do for you?”
“How did you know we were cops?” Connie asked.
“Besides the Cagney and Lacey pants?” G-Spot pulled at the gum in her mouth. “Bitches rarely come in here unless they want a job or are cops. And, something tells me you’re not looking for jobs.”
“I’m Detective Dee Quarter and this is Detective Connie Wilks. We heard you and a guy was here talking about Boyce Vickers.”
G-Spot scoffed, rolling her shoulders. “And?”
“Who was he?” Dee asked with impatience.
“Stacey Vickers.”
Connie wrote down the name. “I assume he’s related to Boyce.”
“He’s his nephew.” G-Spot stuck out her hip. “Been coming in here for a few weeks. I felt sorry for his ass so I was giving him a lap dance for free because he never got money. Anyway, he was drunk as hell and babbled about Boyce being missing. It got my attention.” She curled up her nose. “I don’t have nothing else.”
Connie raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
She nodded, rolling her eyes.
A stripper with coal-black skin shook her giant ass in a man’s face.
Dee studied G-Spot. “Where can we find Stacey?”
She stepped back in white, platform stripper heels with straps up to her knees. “Ask Marquis.”
“The bartender?” Connie asked.
“Yeah. Now if you excuse me...” G-Spot passed them, giving them once-overs. “I gotta get ready for my show.”
Dee and Connie went back to the bar.
“Found what you needed?” Marquis asked.
Dee tapped the glass countertop. “You know Stacey Vickers?”
“Yep, he’s a new regular. Kinda has issues, but he’s a cool dude. Always comes in here to wash away his sorrows. Is this about his uncle?”
“Yep,” Connie said.
“He and Boyce didn’t get along that well.” Marquis scratched his head. “Had a very rocky relationship.”
“You know where Stacey lives?”
“Yeah, but you better talk to him because that motherfucker moves faster than a tornado.” He gave them the address. “He’s living in his friend’s shed.”
Dee grimaced. “Shed?”
Marquis flipped the little towel over his shoulder. “Hey, that’s better than the park bench he was living on last week.”
Dee and Connie thanked him and headed on their way.
“Wonder why Hattie didn’t have Stacey on her list?” Connie asked.
Dee shrugged. “Let’s see what Mr. Stacey Vickers has to say.”
****
“Mm.” The next day, Stacey Vickers munched the pepperoni pizza he’d bribed Dee and Connie for in exchange for talking with him.
“Is it good?” Dee gagged at the funk of stinky socks and mildew that took over the shed.
“It’s great.” Stacey chomped cheese and crust. “Thanks.”
“You’re an interesting guy.” Connie moved from the pile of clothes in the corner. “You’re twenty-three and don’t have a pot to piss in.”
The sun shined in from the curtains, illuminating his green eyes. “I get by.”
Dee walked around the confined space filled with junk. “You call living in your homie’s backyard shed getting by?”
“Hey, it’s better than living in my car.” He licked his greasy lips. “Or sucking dicks for motel money.” He sat on a lopsided, smudged mattress with no sheet. “I take what life gives me without complaining.”
“You got time to go to strip clubs then why not get a job?”
“Gee, why didn’t I think of that, Detective Quarter? It ain’t easy getting a job with no skills.”
“You mean when you got a record,” Connie said.
“Did you guys come here to talk about my uncle or lecture me? Fuck, man. I don’t need another rendition of ‘Stacey is a screw-up.’ Trust me, my family reminds me enough.”
“You’re from Connecticut, right?” Dee stepped on something and slipped. “Whoa.” She stared at the soggy condom.
“Gross.” Connie scowled.
“This is ridiculous,” Dee scolded Stacey. “Just because you’re struggling doesn’t mean you gotta live like a pig.”
“You have money for condoms, huh?” Connie kicked it toward the broken Xbox.
“That ain’t mine.” He scratched his cheek with his dirty nails.
“God.” Dee’s stomach turned.
“I told you.” He gulped Coke from a can. “I haven’t seen my uncle in weeks. I stayed with him when I first got to Baltimore and he kicked me out.”
“Why?” Connie crossed her arms.
“He doesn’t like me.” He got another slice of pizza and lay in the bed. “He only took me in because my dad told him to.”
“Your dad is Boyce’s brother?”
Stacey nodded, teeth tearing into the pizza. “I came for a new start and thought things would be better.”
“Does your dad have a home and stuff?” Connie grimaced. “If so, why on earth live life this and not with him?”
“I think I can guess,” Dee said. “Burned a lot of family bridges, Stacey?”
“You can say that. Dad and I don’t get along and the rest of the family don’t give a shit.”
“It shows your dad still cares if he wanted Boyce to help you out.” Connie turned. “Ah!”
Dee jumped. “What is it, girl?”
“A cockroach.” Connie scattered to the other side of the shed.
The humongous, black monster scurried under the pile of clothes.
“Ooh.” Connie shivered in the corner, shaking out her hands. “I’m scared of roaches.”
“You got a gun, don’t you?” Stacey laughed. “Shoot it.”
Dee rocked, tilting her head. “What I don’t get is, why Hattie didn’t mention you?”
“She probably doesn’t know I’m in town. We’re not kin, and I don’t associate with her.”
The detectives looked at each other.
“My dad and Boyce are half-brothers. They got the same daddy. Look, I appreciate the pizza.” Stacey lifted his long, lanky body off the mattress, scratching his dirty undershirt. “But, I didn’t do nothing to my uncle. You have any leads?”
“None.” Dee gaged his expression. “We’re hitting all angles so hopefully something comes up soon.”
His short, yellow-blond curls lay flat to his head on one side. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Connie sighed. “When someone is missing this long without contacting anyone, it’s usually not a good sign.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Lisa.” Dee caught her at the police station stairwell. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“I just came to wish Captain Salinger a happy birthday and to say hello to some of the gang.” She raised her hands. “Not here to flirt with your man or anything.”
“Leece.” Dee closed the stairwell door. “I hate we’ve been having issues.”
“I not the one with the problem here, Dee.”
“Sorry for how I’ve been acting.” Dee stroked
Lisa’s arm. “You’re my girl.”
“Hm.” She crossed her arms, pursing her lips. “You haven’t been treating me like your girl.”
“My emotions are so screwed up right now.” Dee glanced at her white sneakers. “The thing with Jonathan hasn’t helped.”
“He assaulted you, Dee. Why didn’t you throw his ass in jail?”
“Because I’m ashamed.” She slumped on the wall. “People would judge me and say it was my fault because I kept going over there.”
“I thought this Jonathan stuff was over with after you finished the Stuart case.”
“I was hoping it was.”
Lisa watched with sympathy.
“And, even after what he did...” Dee swallowed. “I still wanna go over there. Why am I feeling like this? He scares me, but he intrigues me too.”
“Jonathan is a sadist, and you can’t let him get to you.” Lisa put her hands on Dee’s shoulders. “He’s trying to lure you into his cult. You have to remember that.”
“What am I gonna do?”
“Why don’t you talk to Dr. Guzman?” Lisa released Dee’s shoulders. “It can help if you try it.”
“That’s all right.” She stood from the wall. “I’ll work it out.”
“Like you’ve been working it out?” Lisa played with Dee’s hair. “Not doing such a good job right now.”
Dee snickered, pinching Lisa’s chin. “I love you.”
“I love you too, girl.” Lisa hugged her. “I got your back.”
****
“Dee, stop apologizing.” Winston peeled another orange for the fruit salad and turned sideways at his kitchen counter that night. “Let’s move on from this Jonathan stuff, okay?”
“I feel guilty though.” She rocked in front of the silver microwave. “How can I expect you to trust me when I go behind your back?”
“Can you get the pecans out the cabinet, please?”
She handed the little sack of pecan halves to him.
“And, drop this conversation right now.” He winked, smiling. “I’m over it. Jonathan is sick and you realize that.” He dumped assorted fruit into two bowls. “I still wish you’d pressed charges though.”
She folded her arms behind her head. “I wanna forget I ever heard of Jonathan Wild.”
Winston ate an orange slice. “Do you still wanna go over there?”
“Course not.”
“Just hope we’re on the same page.” He pointed to the refrigerator with the top freezer. “Get the strawberry sauce and whip cream, please.”
“I thought you were supposed to be pampering me.” She grinned, checking the fridge. “Not me being your sous chef.” She got the items and tossed them to him. “Here.”
He stirred the fruit and nuts together, added strawberry sauce but stopped when he got the whipped cream.
A devilish smile corroded his lips.
“What?” A slow heat rose inside Dee’s loins. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why do you think?” He gestured with his head. “Come here.”
She hooked her thumb in the belt loop of her hip-hugging jeans. “Not sure I wanna do that—”
“Get your ass over here.” He pulled her by her waistband. “This is a big fantasy of mine.”
“God.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Everyone wants to do Nine in a Half Weeks.”
“I had the biggest crush on Kim Basinger.” He rubbed his crotch. “She was the first woman I masturbated to.”
“That’s gross.” She popped a green grape into her mouth. “I’m not Kim Basinger in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” He pushed his hand under her tank top, causing her pelvic muscles to clench. “She was the woman of my fantasies.” He licked her nose. “You’re the woman of my dreams.” He sprayed a line of the whipped cream from her wrist to her forearm and followed the pattern with his tongue.
Dee moaned, nearly busting out her jeans.
“How’s that?”
Her nipples turned into tight buttons. “Why is food and sex so erotic?”
Winston knelt, lifting her top over her bra.
She touched the top of his head as he squirted cream on her belly button and licked it clean.
“Oh.” She drizzled strawberry syrup on his lips and sucked the tangy, sweetness from his tongue and mouth.
“Mm.” Still kneeling, he wrapped his arms around her waist, almost ripping her lips off with his powerful kisses. “I’ve never wanted a woman so much.” He exhaled. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He undid her jeans, sprayed her midriff with cream and kissed it.
“Yes.” Dee’s satin panties stuck to her wetness. “That’s it, Winston.”
He slurped, pulling down her pants further.
“Don’t stop.” She got on her knees, lifted his T-shirt, and zigzagged syrup over his nipple and kissed it.
He ran his fingers through her hair. “You’re so damn sexy.”
She poured more syrup on his chest and massaged the sticky treat on his pecs.
“God.” He leaned back, gyrating his hardness underneath her.
Dee licked and sucked the syrup that now tasted salty after mixing with the flavor of his skin.
“Yes.” Winston took his T-shirt off, moaning. “Open your mouth.”
She opened it wide as she could.
Winston squeezed cream into it and licked the remainder from her lips.
Sweet, white goo covered their mouths, chins and noses.
Dee laughed. “We’re a mess.” She licked syrup off her fingers.
“You haven’t seen a mess yet.” He laid her on the floor, shaking the whipped cream.
“Come on.” She slid her jeans to her knees. “Put it on me.”
He smirked, squeezing cream inside her thighs.
Her phone rang.
They both let out exhausted sighs.
“Is it like people have a radar to know when we’re about to have sex?” Winston leaned up. “Every single time—”
“Sorry, but you know the life of cops.”
Winston got her purse off the table and tossed it to her.
Dee answered Connie’s call, “Hey. You got something?”
“As a matter of fact I do. The station called me and claimed they got an anonymous tip about a guy assaulting and harassing men who frequent drag clubs.”
“Huh?” Dee wiggled her nose. “What does this have to do with Boyce’s
disappearance?”
“He loved drag shows.” Connie sounded as if she were chewing something. “The tipster said Boyce got into it with this guy a few times and he’s a big bully. His name is Trevon Epps.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hell, no I haven’t seen that dude.” Trevon Epps rolled from underneath the Lincoln Continental on a red creeper the next day. “I didn’t even know his name was Boyce. If you hadn’t shown me his photo, I wouldn’t have known who the hell you were talking about.” Sweat rolled across his deep-chocolate forehead. “Is that all because I got to get this car finished for a customer by tomorrow?” He slid back under the car.
“No, that’s not all.” Dee walked across the metallic, garage floor of Epps’ auto repair shop. “You had issues with Boyce we hear.”
“From who?” He tinkered with something under the car. “Always got to be the brotha?”
“We got a tip you had run-ins with Boyce at the Tipsy Unicorn.” Connie peeked into the red toolbox. “That drag queen club.”
“He started it.” He peeked at them. “He should’ve kept his mouth closed.”
Dee stuck her foot out, swaying. “The drag performers said you go to the club to cause trouble.”
He slid back out. “I only went because my sister likes to see those shows and she said a dude who hangs out there was bothering her all the time.”
“Was Boyce the dude you’re speaking of?” Connie asked.
“No.” He scratched underneath his blue head rag
. “See, them queens or whatever they call themselves like to fuck with straight men all the time. Every time I’d go they would mess with me during their performances.” He grimaced. “Always touching on me and trying to sing to me. I told them I wasn’t down with that and to keep their hands to themselves. One of them wouldn’t listen so I met his ass after the show was over to get the point across.”
“You mean to fight,” Dee said.
“Me and the guy was handling our business.” He sat up. “Boyce come running his ass out there and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Ever since then he was always in my face whenever I’d go.”
“A big, tough guy like you...” Connie chuckled. “I doubt you’re the kind to walk away from someone pissing you off.”
“Wait, a minute.” He unfolded his legs in the oily jumpsuit. “Are you trying to say I did something to Vickers?”
Dee shrugged.
“I thought his ass was just missing.” His nose shot in the air.
“When someone’s been missing this long, it’s not a good sign,” Dee said.
“He’s dead?”
“We’re looking at all angles.” Connie smiled. “That’s all.”
“You can keep looking because I didn’t do shit to Boyce Vickers.” He grabbed a wrench and slid under the car. “Whatever happened to the dude it’s got nothing to do with me.”
****
Jonathan knocked on the door of the compound infirmary while Dr. Neumann rinsed his hands in the sink.
“Jonathan.” The 60-year-0ld Neumann navigated his skinny, 6’4 body to the paper towel dispenser. “Something I can do for you?” His stethoscope rested around his neck.
Jonathan checked out the first bed behind the curtain. “Did you read the analysis for Jonathan’s Web?”
“Yes.” Neumann’s pasty, sculptured cheeks rose. “I’m not seeing anything that causes concern, but I’m not sold that it’s safe.”
“We tested it on people in Columbia. It has no side effects, and it wears off within hours.”
“No side effects yet.” Neumann moved medicine from the table to the cabinet.
“Why are you so worried? I’ve constructed many medicines. I learned from the best, remember?”
“Your dad was a brilliant man.” Neumann’s turquoise-blue eyes sunk into his heavy lids. “And, he taught you everything.”