by DJ Steele
Standing in the foyer, Laquita’s head swung side to side surveying the home. "Wow, Julia. This place looks a whole lot better on the inside than the outside."
Julia tossed her backpack on the couch and explained, "It’s a historic home that I had renovated. I liked that it was an end-unit row house and had a porch."
"I love how white people buy ol’ run down homes and call ‘em historic. I live in an ol’ run-down apartment. We call it a dump."
Laquita kicked off her shoes and in her socks skated across the hardwood floors in the living area to the kitchen. "Damn, you sure ain’t payin’ me enough. You got yourself a chef kitchen with ‘em stainless steel appliances." She ran her hand along the smooth granite countertops. "You done good for yourself, Julia."
Julia wondered where Laquita lived. The woman had told her she didn’t own a car. Maybe Laquita lived in the projects or for all she knew she could be living with her criminal friend, Max. They were two people from very different backgrounds.
She had always been critical of people who made bad choices and didn’t try to better themselves. Now things were not as black and white as she thought. It was gray and grayer.
Julia had always been conservative in almost every aspect of her life. From her finances down to the men she dated. She kept detailed spreadsheets to budget her spending and lived as she once told her best friend, within her means. Then her life was turned upside down when she learned about her past and witnessed the deaths of people she cared about. Things that had once seemed important, no longer had meaning. Her therapist told her she had survivor’s guilt.
"Why ya got a bunch of dead plants?’ Laquita’s rubbed a dry leaf between her fingers making it crumble into a flowerpot sitting on the kitchen windowsill.
"They’re not dead. They’re dormant. Dormancy is when plants go into hibernation, allowing them to survive the cold weather," she explained.
"Hell, I know the difference tween dormant and dead. And these here plants are dead as a door nail." Laquita picked up a pot and added, "You should just toss ‘em out."
Julia quickly snatched the pot out of Laquita’s hand and put the plant back on the windowsill. "My therapist told me plants would be helpful."
"You got a shrink?"
"She’s a therapist." Why’d I open my big mouth?
"Did that shrink tell ya to git dead plants or ya just got a black thumb?"
Ignoring the question, Julia said, "The guest bedroom is upstairs. I use the room on the right for my office. You can stay in the guest bedroom on the left."
Laquita’s eyed the top of the stairway and then faced Julia. "Maybe we oughta eat somethin' first. Then we can figger out how to git our money from that Lejeune woman."
Strange how Laquita said our money when she was the one who owned the business. They weren’t partners. Laquita worked for her.
"I’ve got some left-over spaghetti. How does that sound?"
* * *
After supper, Julia cleared the table while Laquita slipped upstairs to use the bathroom. When Laquita came back downstairs a half-hour later, the dishes had already been rinsed and stacked in the dishwasher.
"Can I help ya clean up?" Laquita asked.
Julia sat down at her mid-century dining table and opened her laptop. Her backpack was propped up against the table leg. Kat Lejeune’s file, a pen and notepad were next to the computer. She had a glass of water for her and one for Laquita.
"Just sit down and let’s review the timeline and what we know. I think this will help us decide our best course of action." Julia pushed the yellow notepad and the pen across the table to Laquita.
Laquita tapped the pen on the pad of paper in front of her several times before asking, "So, this is how the CIA figgers shit out? Cuz I was thinkin’ it’d be a bit more high-tech."
Julia caught the words before they escaped from her mouth. This was how she figured things out. It wasn’t exactly a spreadsheet, but data organization was how she rolled.
If she wanted Laquita to help her, she’d have to be careful what she said next. Laquita wanted to go to the police. At first Julia believed that was the best option, but now she wasn’t sure. The man who worked for the Bridge Club warned her not to go to the authorities. The only reason the Club would be involved would be if the Russians were somehow involved. That didn’t make sense at the moment. Julia knew she needed to be honest with the woman staring at her and waiting impatiently for an explanation.
She took a sip of water before beginning, "First off, we’re safe in my house. And yes, this is how the CIA does it." There was a scrap of truth to what she said. She imagined the CIA analytical team sat around a table hashing out the evidence during their conferences. She’d seen a movie once where this had happened.
"Then ya do work for the CIA?"
"No." Julia slowly shook her head. "Remember what I told you in the car…."
"Yeah, yeah, it’s complicated."
"I’m not employed by the CIA, but I do assist them from time to time." It surprised her how easily that lie slipped out of her mouth. Maybe Elke had taught her more than how to use a gun.
"Holy shit. That’s freakin’ awesome."
Awesome was not the word that came to Julia’s mind.
Chapter Sixteen
Laquita lifted the glass of water toward Julia and asked, "Got anything stronger than water?"
"I have some wine in the kitchen," replied Julia. "Want red or white?"
"Got any beer?"
"No. I don’t care for it."
"Shoulda figgered you were a wine kinda person."
"Not sure what you mean by that. Do you want a glass of wine or not?"
"Maybe later. I wuz wanting me a beer."
"Maybe we’ll hit the bars later."
"Really?"
"No," Julia said tightly. "We’ve got to figure out what’s going on."
Laquita frowned and began tapping her pen on the tablet.
"Let’s start at the beginning with what we know. You can take notes," Julia instructed.
At the top of the yellow pad, Laquita wrote in big letters, NIGHT MOVES.
"Huh?" said Julia as her finger tapped the words Laquita had written.
"Max’s favorite song. Bob Seger sang it." Laquita broke out singing, "Workin’ on mysteries without any clues, workin’ on our night moves."
"I believe that song is about a guy trying to put the moves on a girl," Julia said.
Laquita erupted in laughter. "Yeah, Max was always workin’ on his Night Moves." She made quote gestures with her fingers.
Julia’s lips softened and curled up. "Okay, let’s work on our Night Moves’ timeline and figure this mystery out." She opened the file labeled Kat Lejeune and pulled out a form that resembled a legal document.
"Number one," Julia said while scanning the document. "A woman, who used the name Kat Lejeune, contacted me at the office to do surveillance on her husband."
"Member, I done told ya somethin’ was wrong since that bitch didn’t have a picture of her man."
"Actually, you said it was kinda strange not wrong."
"Same thin’."
Julia rolled her eyes and continued, "I printed out the photos I took." Julia placed the first photo in the middle of the table allowing them both to view it.
She tapped the picture with her finger. "This is the man who got out of the car. I wished I had gotten his tag number. He kept his back to us, but even with the ball cap on, you can see his hair sticks out and is a dark color. We believed he was the husband at the time. Here are several more photos of him walking down the upstairs hallway toward room 205. His dark sunglasses and ball cap conceal most of his features, but I can zoom in on my laptop." She turned the computer to give Laquita a view of the screen.
Next, Julia placed another photo in the middle of the table. "Here’s the picture of the woman who opened the door. The red-haired woman was tall, almost the same height as the man in the doorway and dressed in slacks with a matching blazer." J
ulia hit the spacebar on her laptop to bring up the picture on her screen. "Now look when I zoom in on the woman’s face. What do you notice?"
"That ya need a whole lot mor’ practice with that camera. That picture’s blurry and that man’s blocking a lotta her."
Agitated, Julia said, "Just look at the photo and tell me what you see."
Laquita squinted, leaned toward the screen and studied the picture for a few beats. "Oh my God." Laquita arched back, her voice rising in intensity, "I git it. That woman ain’t happy to see that dude."
"You’re right. If they were lovers, she'd be smiling, not looking like that. But there’s something else not right in this picture."
"What? Ya think that husband got a gun?"
"Stay with me." Julia held up her hand to slow Laquita’s questions down.
"The woman’s clothes are too conservative to be at this dump for drugs or sex or both. Her outfit is what you would wear in an office, not seduce a man. You asked me when we were doing surveillance what Kat Lejeune was wearing when she came to my office. Well, she was dressed in a very nice professional outfit. Conservative. The husband is probably conservative. Why would he meet a woman at this pay by the hour motel?"
Laquita quickly started writing.
"I don’t git it." Laquita quit writing and stared at the picture of the woman and man standing in the motel doorway. "There’s gotta be a reason she’s there."
"Yes, there does, but I just don’t have an answer. Max told you there were two dead bodies in that motel room. We saw a man leave, therefore we know there were at least three people in that room. Two men and a woman."
"Ya think that husband finds out she’s with another man. Shows up, kills ‘em both?"
"Or maybe the murderer was already in the room," suggested Julia.
"But we both saw the husband leave."
"I don’t believe the man who drove up was the same man who left."
"How come?"
"The man we saw leave had a limp and wore a leather jacket. The man in this photo," she pointed with her finger. "Is the man we saw park and go up to the room. He didn’t limp and he wasn’t wearing a leather jacket. I was focused on the baseball cap. Both men were wearing it."
"That’s right 'bout the jacket. I didn’ notice a limp."
"Because it was a slight limp. I saw it through the camera lens."
Laquita started writing again.
Julia waited till Laquita finished writing before adding, "The woman who opened the door wasn’t unhappy, she was scared."
"Lemme see that close up of her again."
Julia zoomed back in on the woman’s face and turned the screen for Laquita to study.
"Oh my god. She does look scared. Then which of ‘em is the husband?"
"I don’t know. But Kat Lejeune sounded surprised when I mentioned the dead bodies. It would make sense that her husband wasn't the one murdered by Lejeune's reaction."
"Unless." Laquita looked directly at her. "That bitch ain’t got no husband."
"I thought about that too. What we need to know is her motivation for hiring us."
"Even if she used a fake name, we can trace her number," said Laquita.
"I planned on doing that, but first I need you to call Max and see what he knows. Every time we learn something, add it to our Night Moves' list." She closed the laptop and sat back while Laquita called Max.
After several tries Laquita said, "He ain’t answerin'. Not even my texts."
"Maybe you should leave a message and identify yourself on the texts. He won’t recognize the number from the burn phone. Hopefully he’ll get in touch with you soon."
Meanwhile, Julia went into the living room and switched on the TV channel surfing for coverage of the murders and explosion. A news station reported the victims had not been identified and no arrests had been made. Flipping to the local news there was footage which showed a plume of smoke from the explosion and the street was cordoned off by police investigating the bombing.
A spokesman for the Washington Hospital Center said the survivors had been taken there for treatment, two with serious injuries. The detective in charge of the homicide had been treated and released. A picture flashed across the screen with his name typed at the bottom. Detective Mike Shockley. Julia thought she recognized him from the other day when they drove to the crime scene.
Laquita walked into the living room and asked, "Whatta ya watching?
"Just an update on the bombing at the motel. Still no information on the victims. Did you leave Max a message?"
"Yeah. I hope he's okay. Whatta ya think we should do?"
"Right now, I think we’re safe staying here. Kat Lejeune or whoever she is, knows by now about the murders. If she’s innocent, I’m sure she’ll contact the police. We need Max to call us. I’m going to go online and see if I can trace the number Kat Lejeune gave me."
"Are we gonna tell the CIA what we figgered out?"
"They’ll get in touch with us. I’m certain of that."
The man from the Club said they’d be in touch. Julia just hoped that person wasn’t Elke.
Chapter Seventeen
She shouldn’t be surprised at anything Laquita said, but this caught her off guard.
Laquita was wearing the robe she loaned her while Laquita’s clothes were being washed. She had politely offered Laquita a few of her oversized t-shirts for her to sleep in tonight. Tomorrow they would go by Laquita’s place and get some of her things.
Laquita informed her that she slept in the au naturel. She whined that PJs confined her.
"You should try it, it’s liberatin’," Laquita said.
Julia wondered what the hell she was thinking by inviting Laquita to spend the night at her place. Hopefully there wouldn’t be a fire and they’d have to run out into the street, Laquita swinging her big naked butt for all the neighbors to see.
Max had not called back.
The Bridge Club hadn’t contacted them, and she was unable to find any info on Kat Lejeune’s phone number.
Depressed by what wasn’t happening, she decided she’d have to take what evidence they had to the authorities in the morning.
Like it or not.
* * *
She was having trouble falling asleep.
Laquita had gone to bed over an hour ago saying she was pooped. She was pooped too, yet her brain was still in overdrive. It wouldn’t shut down. Her therapist had told her about things she could do to reduce her anxiety. Meditate, exercise, listen to music, and buy houseplants.
Another suggestion from the therapist was to quit watching the news. The woman didn’t mention what to do when she was the news. The one-hour sessions cost $150. She wondered if it was even worth continuing to go, but she needed an outlet for her problems. The therapist had heard all about her life. Julia wasn’t sure she believed everything she told her. Hell, it was hard to believe herself.
Now, once again, she was caught up in another—another what? Murder-for-hire plot? Russian hit? Drugs? What? What was she not seeing?
Julia slid her pistol under the pillow next to her. She told Laquita they were safe, but there were too many unexplained issues with this murder.
Double murder.
And according to the news, the killer had not been caught.
Over seven months ago, she and Derick Carver, an ex-paratrooper, helped unravel a plot to assassinate the President and Vice President of the United States. What if Laquita knew all this about her? What if Laquita knew who really got her former employer killed? She had only met Laquita a little over a week ago. She shouldn’t trust her. Not yet anyway. Trust had to be earned.
Right now, she hoped Kat Lejeune, or whatever her name really was, wasn’t in danger or worse. Dead.
The last time Julia looked at the time on her bedside clock it was a little after midnight. She had fallen asleep for what seemed like fifteen minutes when she was jarred awake by a sound.
Outside.
Meow. Meow. It was Albert.
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Why don't they lock that damn cat up at night?
The next sound she thought she heard was concerning. It sounded like the front doorknob being jiggled. She forced her groggy mind to wake up. She sat up in bed and listened. Her bedroom was located in the front part of the house adjacent to the living area. In the back of the row house was the kitchen and dining area.
She hastily slid her hand under the pillow and wrapped her hand around the grip of the pistol. She stood beside her bed and stuffed the pillows under the covers to make it look like she was underneath sleeping. Padding softly, she positioned herself by the hinge side of the bedroom door. She held the gun with both hands against her chest keeping a tight grip.
A second seemed to last too long while she stood motionless, listening. The only sound she heard was her heart thumping against her chest.
It’s him. The killer has found out where I live.
Light footfalls eased across the hardwood floors, then silence. She tried to keep a steady grip on the pistol. The quiet sound of footsteps began inching toward her bedroom.
She held her breath, afraid to make a sound. Tilting her head, she strained to listen.
The sound stopped just outside her door.
The doorknob turned and slowly pushed open. Did the pillows fool him? Or did he know it was a ruse?
The shadow softly crossed the threshold and entered her bedroom.
He stopped.
Could he hear her pounding heart?
The shadow moved closer to the bed. Julia took three steps toward the back of the target and aimed her gun.
"Stop. Drop your weapon. Put your hands in the air and slowly turn around." Julia’s voice gruff from her parched mouth.
The shadow raised its arms and slowly turned.
"I see you have learned a thing or two from me," said the shadow.
Julia knew the voice.
She lowered her pistol and switched on the light. "Dammit, Elke, I could have shot you."
"I’ve missed you. Come give me a hug, honey," her grandmother held her arms open wide.