A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles (24 page)

“Rub your clit. Play with it. Yeah, that’s it, keep playing with it.” The more Rachida stroked her clit, the more Eric stroked himself. Her hair hung on the floor and she looked back through her open legs at his arousal. He turned over on his back but never let go of his dick. Rachida figured he was ready for her to jump on him like a stallion so she stood up, smoothed her hair back, and seductively pranced over to the bed.

“Do you need my help with that?” Rachida asked, putting one hand around Eric’s dick. She put the tip of the head in her mouth
to get it wet, but before she could start sucking him, he told her to stand on the bed. She slid off her stilettos and did as directed. She figured he wanted to see her valley from another angle for more visual stimulation.

“Golden shower. Go ahead, give me one.” For a minute, Rachida had to think about what he was asking. She’d heard about these from the other women, but had never had any of her customers ask for one before. She didn’t really feel comfortable peeing anywhere other than a toilet, but if Eric wanted to pay $500 to get peed on, so be it. She hoped he wouldn’t then want her to lie down on a pissy-ass bed. She took a deep breath and tried like hell to make a golden shower look sexy. Straddling his body, she released slowly so that the liquid drizzled down her leg versus shooting out like a water fountain.

“Yeah, girl, that’s it, give it to me, yeah, on my body, yeah, keep on, yeah, yeah, yeah!” Eric’s moans heightened the more Rachida peed on him. She couldn’t figure out what got him off about this, but within a matter of minutes, he was exploding all over his chest. She stood there for a moment, not sure what her next move should be. Eric lay there with his eyes closed for a moment before saying a word. The cold from the air conditioner was causing chill bumps to pop up all over her body. But the last thing she wanted to do was get in that bed after peeing in it.

“So, what do you want to do now? You want to go for round two inside me or what?”

“No, I can’t do that. I’m married, so I can’t, like, fuck you or anything. What about toys, you got any?”

“Sure.” Rachida hopped down off the bed and grabbed her duffel bag from the chair in the corner. She had several tricks in her bag. Vibrators, bunnies, beads. She was always prepared for whatever a customer wanted. She held up a pink two-headed vibrator designed to stroke her G-spot and penetrate her at the same time.

“What about this?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. Let me see you work that.”

“You want to see me put it in my pussy, huh?”

“Oh, yeah!” Eric yelled. Rachida took a seat in the chair and opened her legs wide. She propped her left leg up on the bed, giving Eric full view of her pussy. The vibrator hummed softly and she eased to the edge of her seat and fulfilled herself, since Eric wasn’t going to do it for her.

When it was all over, she’d fondled and fucked herself, along with peeing on herself, and Eric was completely satisfied.

“Damn, I’m starving. You want to grab something to eat before you leave? I saw a Waffle House across the street from the airport.”

“Sure. Let me jump in the shower first.” They both got cleaned up, carrying on small talk with each other to fill the awkwardness of two strangers. They rode in Eric’s rental car. While Rachida waited for her waffle and eggs and he waited for his steak, eggs, toast, and grits, she learned that he was originally from Alabama but was living in Maryland. He tried hard not to discuss his wife and kids, so he focused on talking about the fraternity instead. Rachida learned everything she’d ever wanted to learn about Gamma Alpha Psi. The entire conversation bored her, and she couldn’t wait until the heavyset blond waitress with a missing front tooth and dirty apron set their plates down in front of them. The Waffle House had a minimal crowd of people leaving the nightclubs who wanted a bite to eat before going home. There were also a few street hustlers in there who were probably finishing up shifts of their own and had the munchies after smoking weed. Besides, they served the best waffles and eggs one could buy at two a.m.

Eric and Rachida ate their food quietly, and before long she could hear police sirens in the distance. The sound got closer and closer, and it was hard not to notice the group of police cars
speeding into the parking lot of the Red Roof Inn across the street. Everyone in the Waffle House looked through the windows trying to get a peek at the event. The sight of the officers made Eric nervous, since he was out in public with a woman who wasn’t his wife.

“You ready?” he asked abruptly. She gulped down the last of her orange juice.

“Sure.” By the time they’d walked outside, a crowd had started to form on the Waffle House side of the street, and the cop cars were coming from all directions.

Before they could reach Eric’s car, Rachida heard someone calling her name.

She squinted and noticed a woman in a burgundy uniform coming toward her. She realized it was Tandy, a friend who worked at the Red Roof Inn. Tandy ran across Williamsburg Road to where Rachida and Eric were standing.

“Rachida! You have to come quick. My coworker Jenny said she saw the body and it’s Abie,” Tandy said, trying to catch her breath.

“What?”

“Abie, she got shot. You need to come now.” Tandy grabbed Rachida by the arm.

“I’m sorry, but I have to see what’s going on. I think my best friend may be in trouble. I’ll get a ride back to the hotel. Don’t worry about me.” Eric jumped into his car so quickly it was a wonder he let Rachida finish her sentence. Tandy pulled Rachida across the street through the crowd and up a back stairwell so they could bypass the police perimeter. Since Tandy worked at the hotel, she had access to the rooms so she was able to get into the room next to the one where Abie had been killed. The police were still gathering in the parking lot waiting for the crime-scene investigators to arrive so this gave Tandy a window of opportunity to sneak Rachida in. Tandy opened the door slowly and they entered the room. It looked like a massacre had occurred there. Blood
splatters were on the walls, the bedspread, even the dresser and TV. Abie’s lifeless body was on the floor naked right by the entrance, between the dresser and the bed. Rachida almost fainted at the sight of her friend.

“Abie? Oh, my God, Abie! Abie, what happened? Oh, my God! Tandy, what happened to her? Who did this?” Rachida went to kneel down beside Abie but Tandy pulled her back.

“You can’t go over there, Rachida. You might contaminate the crime scene. I just wanted to make sure that was her. I’m so sorry. Come on, we have to go before the police come back in.”

“Tandy, who did this? Why? Why? Oh, God, why? Abie, noooo!” The sound of the door opening sent Tandy running through the access door to the adjacent hotel room. Rachida just stood there, frozen, screaming.

“Hey, what are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to be in here. Who are you and how’d you get in here?” Rachida was numb. All she could do was stand there and scream uncontrollably. What was Abie doing here? She was supposed to be on an airplane long gone by now. Who did this to her? And why?

T
he days after Abie’s funeral were a blur to Rachida but somehow she made it through without breaking down. She’d become a bit of a recluse since Abie’s death, and working was the last thing on her mind. Madam gave her two weeks off to get herself together, and she used those weeks to find the strength to start her own search for Abie’s killer. Initially Scoot had been questioned by the police as a possible suspect, but they’d had to let him go because he had an ironclad alibi. They told Rachida that there
were no leads in the case and no witnesses. No one saw Abie go into the hotel room. The room was not registered to anyone. Abie’s car was found at a park ’n’ ride at the airport. None of it made sense. What they
could
tell her was that it seemed like Abie had met her killer at the airport and was abducted there. There was evidence that supported this theory that the police weren’t able to disclose to Rachida.

Rachida was ready to find Abie’s killer. The first thing she had to do was talk to Scoot to see what he knew about what Abie might’ve been involved in that day. It was still hot outside even though the sun was just setting, putting a haze over the city. Rachida jumped into her car, opened the sunroof, and let the farmhouse get farther and farther behind her. It didn’t take long for her to reach the city, but by the time she reached Scoot’s house, the sun had completely set. Scoot’s Cadillac was parked in the driveway and music was blaring from inside. Rachida parked her car and walked through a shabby, chain-link fence down an uneven paved walkway. When she walked up the porch steps to the screen door, she noticed that the front door wasn’t closed all the way. She didn’t see any more cars in the driveway, so she assumed Scoot was there alone. The door squeaked as she slowly pushed it open. She peeked inside and scanned the living room. The music was so loud it felt like the bass was coming from inside her head.

“Scoot!” Rachida yelled but she knew it was impossible to hear over the music. She waited a minute or so to see if he’d come out but he didn’t, so she went in and turned the music down. The living room was a mess with empty fast-food containers, Styrofoam cups, and other trash strewn about. It smelled bad too, probably from the trash in the kitchen. The house didn’t look like it had been cleaned in days, maybe even weeks.

“Scoot!” Rachida yelled again, this time walking down the hallway toward the bedroom. When she reached his bedroom door, it was closed, so she knocked.

“Scoot?” she said again. No response. She turned the knob and opened the door. Her eyes got as big as lemons. He was lying in a pool of blood on his bed, faceup, his wife beater stained with blood, and several bullet holes in his chest. She inched away slowly, not sure if she should call the police or run like hell out of the house.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rachida paced and rubbed her forehead to stop herself from throwing up. She’d cried so many tears for Abie that she didn’t have any more left, and quite frankly, she didn’t care that Scoot was dead. All she cared about was that she hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him before he was murdered. As she stood there, confused and a bit numb, she gathered her composure and decided to search Scoot’s room to find any evidence that could prove whether he’d killed Abie. Rachida hurried to the front door and locked it. She looked through the tattered miniblinds to make sure no one was outside. Then she went back to Scoot’s bedroom and tried to avoid looking at him. She rummaged through his drawers, his closets, and even under his bed looking for anything that might prove guilt. The room was already in shambles, so it probably didn’t make much difference that Rachida was searching it. She kicked through several piles of clothes on the floor looking for anything that would help her. One of the piles covered a small plastic trash can, inside of which was a TracFone and some sheets of paper with pictures and personal data on someone named Karen Jefferson-Duvall. Jefferson-Duvall was the pastor of Missions of Faith Baptist Church, a megachurch in Atlanta, Georgia. Rachida had heard about the church from its Sunday TV broadcasts, and the pastor of the church was a spiritual advisor to a lot of celebrities.
Why did Scoot have information on her?
Rachida wondered. It didn’t make sense, especially because Scoot was far from spiritual. The TracFone looked brand-new. Rachida turned it on and hit the
MENU
button, looking through the call history. Only two outgoing calls had been made,
both to a number with a “678” area code. Rachida dialed the number to see who answered.

“Thank you for calling Missions of Faith Baptist Church. This is Pastor Karen Jefferson-Duvall. I’m unavailable at the moment, but your call is very important to me. Please leave a detailed message and I’ll call you back at my earliest convenience. Thank you for calling and have a blessed day.”

Rachida’s legs almost buckled. That voice. She knew it anywhere. That same southern drawl, oozing with sweetness. It was the madam’s. Rachida was 100 percent sure of it.
Pastor
Karen Jefferson-Duvall? Madam Celecia was a pastor? That just didn’t make any sense. How was that possible?

“Come on, Scoot. I know you’re dead, but you have to give me more here. I need more.” Rachida spoke to the corpse as if it would answer her. Then she dug through the rest of the papers from the trash can and read each to see if there was anything else that might help her with the puzzle. Then she saw it, the very last page—the script Abie had written and given to Scoot. It all started to make sense.

So that’s what Abie had been up to. She’d tried to extort money from the madam, who just happened to be a pastor. What kind of twisted mind could have been living such a double life? But did the pastor kill Abie or hire someone else to do it for her? Then it hit her—the emergency meeting the day Abie was killed. The background noise on the phone call could have been from the airport. Could the madam be so cold, though? Was she capable of brutally murdering Abie? Rachida couldn’t believe it. She shook her head over and over again, tears rolling down her cheeks. With all she knew, the evidence was clear, so Rachida decided it was the right time to call the police. She called Detective Wilson, who’d been working on Abie’s case.