Buying Time (40 page)

“And exactly what does that mean?”

“It means I got a bad vibe about her.”

“What do you want me to do about it? You brought her here.”

Dre almost smiled. Black women were so good at being bitchy. Angela was probably a killer in the courtroom. But she wasn’t in court. She was in his crib. And he wasn’t about to let her disrespect him.

“I thought we discussed this yesterday, but let’s try it one more time. I don’t appreciate you givin’ me attitude when all I’m tryin’ to do is help you. I came in here to hip you to the fact that homegirl ain’t who she says she is. And if that’s true, that could be a problem. For you, me, and that clown in there.”

Angela’s face softened. “And what exactly is your vibe based on?”

“She was just in the bathroom talkin’ to somebody on her cell. When I asked her about it, she lied and said she was listenin’ to her voicemail messages. And I ain’t no doctor, but the girl don’t look like a cancer patient to me.”

“Waverly said she was in remission.”

“Remission, my ass. She has to be the happiest, healthiest-lookin’ cancer patient I’ve ever seen.”

He could tell Angela was considering what he was saying. “What do you think is going on?”

Dre was glad that he finally had her interest. “I don’t know. But since somebody apparently wants your friend in there dead, we can’t afford to assume they wouldn’t go as far as plantin’ somebody like Britney to make sure it gets done.”

“You watch too much TV,” Angela said.

“Actually, I don’t. It’s like you said, I know criminals.”

“Okay, then, we need to talk to Waverly.”

“That’s exactly what we shouldn’t do. The dude ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He’ll just screw everything up.”

Angela uncrossed her legs and tucked them underneath her. “If you’re right, she could’ve called somebody and told them where we are.”

“Nope,” Dre said. “She has no idea where she is. When my boy Mossy brought her over last night, he blindfolded her.”

“You’re kidding.”

“My boy don’t play. He picked her up around the corner from the hotel so he could make sure they weren’t being followed. The girl definitely wants to know where we are, though. She just asked me about going out for groceries, and last night, right before I turned out the lights, she asked me if I subscribed to any magazines.”

Angela’s face went blank. “You lost me.”

“If you wanted a magazine to read, you’d ask me if I had any magazines. You wouldn’t ask me if I
subscribed
to any magazines. She wants a magazine with my address on it so she can give it to whoever she’s working with.”

Once again, Angela seemed to be impressed with Dre’s assessment of their situation.

“There’s nothin’ around here that has the address on it, not even my driver’s license,” Dre said. “I have a plan to set her up. If she bites, then we’ll know we’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of plan?”

“I’m goin’ to—”

“Hey, Dre,” Britney called from the front room, “your phone is ringing.”

Dre left to retrieve his cell, then headed back to the bedroom, still holding the phone to his ear. He finished the call with a big smile on his face. “I’m sooooo good,” Dre gloated.

“What’s going on?” Angela asked.

“That was Mossy, the one who picked up Britney last night. He said he’s been rackin’ his brain all night trying to figure out where he knows her from. And this morning it finally clicked.”

“What did he say?”

“The girl’s a stripper,” Dre said. “In Vegas.”

Angela hopped off the bed.

“That means she’s probably hooked up with some pretty shady people,” Dre continued. “And it also means that happy Valley Girl act she’s playin’ is total bullshit.”

W
averly had a bad feeling the minute he woke up. Not that things could actually get any worse than they already were.

It started with the frantic call from his brother, Quincy, who’d seen the news reports. After calming him down, Waverly had to contend with the increasingly violent threats Rico was leaving on his voicemail. Then there was his throbbing headache from alcohol withdrawal. It was just his luck to be hiding out with a real-life drug dealer who didn’t have a drop of alcohol in his place.

Everybody else in the apartment was already up and about. Dre and Angela were sitting at the kitchen table. Britney was watching MTV, rapping along with Snoop Dogg.

“I made scrambled eggs and toast,” she said, turning back to face Waverly. “There wasn’t any breakfast meat. Want me to fix you a plate?”

Waverly yawned. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”

“We’re out of orange juice.” Britney peered into the refrigerator. “Should I run out and stock up on groceries?” she asked Waverly. “It’s not like anybody’s looking for
me
.”

Dre threw Angela a furtive look that Waverly wasn’t able to decipher.

“I’ll have one of my buddies drop off some food for us later on,” Dre said. “In the meantime, nobody’s leavin’ here until it’s safe for all of us to go. Waverly won’t die if he doesn’t have orange juice for breakfast.”

Waverly went to the bathroom to wash up, changing into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt Dre had loaned him. When he exited, Dre and Angela were standing at the end of the hallway speaking in hushed voices. They abruptly stopped talking when he walked up.

“Is something going on that I don’t know about?” he asked.

“What makes you think that?” Dre replied.

“I don’t know. Just a feeling.”

“We’re just putting our heads together trying to figure out our next step,” Angela said. “We can’t stay here forever.”

The three of them walked back into the living room.

“What are they saying about us on the news?” Angela asked.

“You don’t even wanna know,” Britney said. “You’re all either dead, injured or on the run.”

Angela’s face grew distraught. “I can certainly kiss my career good-bye. We haven’t exactly been cleared in Cornell’s death. It doesn’t look good that we’re in hiding.”

Britney got up to turn on the dishwasher, then picked up her purse from the kitchen table. “Mind if I use the bedroom to lie down awhile?” she asked Dre. “That couch killed my back.”

“Go right ahead,” Dre said.

Unless Waverly was imagining things, once again, Dre and Angela traded wary glances. “You two need to tell me what’s going on,” Waverly said.

“We will soon enough,” Angela replied hesitantly. “For the time being, just trust us.”

Britney came out of the bedroom less than ten minutes later.

“That was a quick nap,” Dre said.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She stretched her arms wide. “I’d rather stay in here and hang out with you guys anyway.”

They watched news coverage of the shootout and their escape until it depressed them. Britney made the wise move to turn on a sitcom Waverly had never seen before.

Both Dre and Angela kept fidgeting and looking at each other. An hour later, when Dre’s phone rang, both of them jumped at the same time. Dre grabbed the phone and walked into the bedroom to take the call.

There was an angry look on Dre’s face when he returned. He nodded to Angela, then marched straight over to Britney’s purse and dumped its contents on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she yelled, scrambling to grab her stuff. She reached for her metallic pink Nokia, but Dre kicked it across the room and Angela grabbed it.

“Give it back!” Britney shouted, then charged toward Angela.

Angela tossed the phone to Dre.

Waverly watched the whole scene, not sure what to do or say.

“Waverly, help me!” Britney yelled to him.

Waverly was too dumbfounded to react.

Britney tried to snatch the phone from Dre, but he held it high above his head, out of her reach.

“What do you need a phone for?” Dre asked. “Who do you have to call?”

“None of your business!”

“You’re not gettin’ it back,” Dre said. “I need to see who you’ve been callin’. We know you set up my boy over here. So you need to back up.”

Dre’s words stopped her cold.

She planted her hands on her hips and pouted. “You must be smoking something.”

Dre turned to Waverly. “I left a utility bill on the kitchen counter because I had a feeling your girl was workin’ with somebody who’s tryin’ to get to you. Except they don’t know where we are.

“The bill had my name on it, so she assumed it was for this place. She called somebody and gave ’em the address. But it was actually the bill for a foreclosure I’m fixin’ up.” He stared angrily at Britney. “A couple of your friends showed up there. They broke in, apparently lookin’ for Waverly. But nobody was there because I knew what you were up to.”

Britney’s face colored and she took a step back.

Waverly felt nothing but rage. He walked up to Britney. “Is that true?”

“Of course not.” She brushed her bangs from her forehead. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I risked my life to try to save yours and you’re trying to get me killed?”

Britney rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Waverly snatched her by the arm, but before he could sling her across the room like he wanted to, Dre pried her arm free and pulled him away.

“Hold up, man. Just cool out. I got everything under control. Now that you know the deal, we can school you.”

Waverly sat down, angry and embarrassed.

“Your cancer patient is a stripper. I suspect somebody put her up to this. I also suspect she doesn’t have cancer. Is that right?”

“Screw you!” Britney shouted.

“That’s more like it. Now you’re actin’ like the little hoochie that you really are.”

Dre dragged her into the kitchen and forced her into one of the chairs. Britney kicked and screamed, but Waverly held her down while Dre wrapped an extension cord around her upper body, tying her to the chair. Waverly and Dre then picked up the chair and carried Britney to the middle of the living room.

“We’re tired of playin’ games with you,” Dre said. “You need to tell us exactly what’s goin’ on.”

“This is kidnapping!” Britney yelled.

Dre was about to stuff a dishtowel into her mouth, when Angela stopped him.

“She’s right,” Angela said. “So far, we haven’t done anything illegal except break the speed limit and run for our lives. If we hold her here against her will, that would be kidnapping. I can’t be a part of that.”

Dre let the dishtowel fall to the floor. “If you’re tellin’ me you want me to let her go, then fine. But that will put all of our lives at risk. The way I see it, we don’t have much of a choice. We need to know what’s goin’ down and she’s the only one who can tell us.”

Angela closed her eyes, seemingly torn.

“I’m with Dre,” Waverly said. “We need to make her talk.”

“Go ahead. I’ve probably already been fired anyway.” She fell onto the couch. “When all of this is over, maybe they’ll let all four of us share the same jail cell.”

J
ust as Erickson had not expected the man he trusted most in the world to betray him, he also had not expected to lose two careers.

After being forced to resign as Attorney General, his law firm partners dealt him another blow. Instead of allowing him to return to his post as chairman of Jankowski, Parkins, an emergency vote of the Management Committee stripped him of the job. The Committee also requested that he take a leave of absence until the situation surrounding his wife’s death had been resolved. Overnight, he had gone from a Washington power broker to a pariah.

He should have known that Becker had his own motives when he so eagerly suggested murdering Claire. Erickson had been too preoccupied with his own rise to success to realize that Becker wanted the chairmanship of the firm and would do anything to get it.

He glanced at his watch. Nolan Flanagan would be arriving soon. Flanagan was a long-time friend and noted criminal defense attorney. Fearing that he could ultimately be charged with Claire’s murder, Erickson had asked him to come over to discuss representing him.

When Flanagan arrived, Erickson showed him to the backyard where they sat on the patio to talk.

“I’ve been reading quite a bit about your wife’s death in the papers,” Flanagan said. “It’s not pretty.” He had dark unruly hair and a thick mustache. When he wasn’t standing before a jury, he was usually dressed in corduroys and a sports coat.

“First things first,” Erickson said. “What’s your hourly rate?”

Flanagan waved him off. “I’m here as a friend, Larry. We can talk about money later.”

Erickson no longer believed in friendship. He would never again trust another living soul.

“No,” Erickson insisted, “I want to make absolutely sure our communications are protected by the attorney-client privilege. We’re going to do this by the book. What’s your rate?”

“Five hundred,” Flanagan said reluctantly.

Erickson picked up his checkbook and scribbled out a check for fifteen hundred dollars. He tore it out and slid it across the table. “I suspect three hours should do it for today. We can work out a more formal arrangement later.”

Leaning back in his lawn chair, Erickson looked past his friend out into his garden. “What I’m about to disclose is definitely going to shock you. But I’m going to tell you everything because you need to have the full picture if you’re going to properly represent me.”

Erickson planned to reveal all, with one exception. He would never tell anyone about his affinity for kiddie porn.

Flanagan held up a hand. “If you killed your wife, I don’t want to know.”

Erickson understood. An attorney could not intentionally put on evidence that he knew was false. But if he didn’t know for sure, he had free reign.

“I did not kill my wife.” Erickson looked him squarely in the eyes. “And that’s the honest truth.”

He began by explaining Becker’s suggestion that they kill Claire to keep her from ruining his chances to become Attorney General.

“You were willing to kill your wife to get that job?” Flanagan asked, not hiding his amazement.

“She was already dying,” Erickson said coldly. “Anyway, it was Becker’s idea, not mine. He even agreed to commit the murder himself.”