Authors: Eric Pete

Frostbite (13 page)

BOOK: Frostbite

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“How are things progressing?” Mr. Smith asked.

“On the ground. Getting a lay of the land. Place is ...
complicated
to say the least. Still trying to figure out why the area they call the West Bank is south of the city,” I replied, almost certain he was unaware of my connection to the N.O.

“No time for that. Finish the job. Or I finish you.”

“Can you at least tell me why?” I asked as I looked up at the cloudy sky and the large object passing overhead that held my attention.

“I’m about to hang up.”

“You know he has a family, right?”

“... Do it. This week. I’ll know if you don’t,” Mr. Smith said in conclusion. From his hesitation, I knew he had a family himself. Was constructing a nice profile of the motherfucker.

I checked my phone app for incoming flight schedules seeing that the one I was expecting had arrived on time. I was waiting in the Hilton parking lot across Airline Drive from the airport while entertaining Mr. Smith, but now it was time to move. I put the rented Mazda in gear and headed out.

As I rolled through the passenger pickup/baggage lane, I saw the person for whom I was there. Standing around in one of those busy, fitted T-shirts and jeans while conversing with another traveler. A quick call and they answered.

“Yo,” they said.

“Little black Mazda,” I calmly recited from behind my black sunglasses.

“Oh. I see you.”

“One other thing.”

“What?”

“Lose the bird that’s trying to give you the digits. Not that kind of trip,” I tersely instructed as I inched up with the stop-and-go flow of traffic. When I got close enough, I popped the trunk, allowing them to deposit their luggage. Then they joined me.

“Can’t believe you’re doing this for me. But I appreciate it,” Ivan Dempsey said, plopping into the passenger seat and flashing his practiced, perfect smile. “Damn. You didn’t prepare me for the humidity down here. Nuts stickin’ to my jeans ’n’ shit. Would’ve worn some shorts.”

“You didn’t tell Sophia, right?” was my response to his pleasantries as I sped away from the airport.

“No. But she’s gonna worry when I don’t come home. My P.O. might trip too.”

“Don’t worry about Sophia. She’s a big girl. And your parole officer will continue to file his regular reports on you.”

“Damn. Got it like that, huh? Sophia said you’re the shit. How much does this pay?”

“Your share?”

“Yeah. Whatever,” he corrected with a sneer.

“Enough for you to leave Sophia alone and never look back.”

“You’d like that.”

“Doesn’t matter what I like. It’s how it’s gonna be if you want the money.”

“Fuck the cloak and dagger, black man. What am I supposed to be doing for this money?”

“Murder,” I calmly mouthed as I got on I-10 to head toward downtown.

“Nah. Hell nah. I just got out. You can pull over now and I’ll find my own way back to Cali.”

“C’mon, Ivan,” I said with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t act like you haven’t killed before. What was it? Your sixth month in there? That guy you shanked in the shower for the Russians in order to get their protection. I know Sophia doesn’t know about that. Or about why you needed their protection. How bad did they stretch that asshole, pretty boy?”

Ivan clenched his jaw. Some of what I said was speculation, but he didn’t deny it. “I should kill you,” he said.

“You could try. I might like that, but I gotta keep my mind on business.”

“Why me?” he asked, most resistance having already faded from his words.

“When I said models follow instruction well, I meant it,” I said, reaching under my seat without taking my eyes off the road. We were going through Metairie, neighborhood sound barrier walls on display on both sides of I-10, and heading toward the infamous Seventeenth Street canal whose levee burst after Katrina. Of course, it ruptured on the Orleans Parish side. At the I-10/I-610 split, I fetched $20,000 of fresh bills and tossed the bound currency into Ivan’s lap. “And because I know this is just a little taste of what awaits you when this job is over.”

Sun Tzu said, “If they are greedy, lure them with goods. Show them a little prospect of gain to lure them, then attack and overcome them.”

“I see,” he muttered. Could tell he regretted even entertaining my proposal. But he was hungry. Mind probably fantasizing about what illicit substances he could snort, shoot, and smoke with what rested in his lap. Would have to keep an eye on him.

“I’m bringing you to the W. Already have a room there. Just need you to hang out for now. Enjoy the food. Do some gambling at Harrah’s with what I just gave you. Maybe you’ll get lucky. Just don’t be calling Sophia.”

“Who am I supposed to be killing?” he asked as his thumb continued to graze the edges of the stacks.

“A lawyer. That’s all,” I said half truthfully with a smile meant to put him at ease. “Everybody hates lawyers.”

Using one problem to solve another,
I thought smugly.

Could’ve just sicced Ivan on Rodney already. Aimed him like a mindless missile at the DA. Boom. Mission accomplished. I had the
how,
but I still wanted to know the
why.

Didn’t have time to stage a place, so I found one on Delachaise Street suitable for my needs. Once picked, I had a go-between pose as a film company rep, paying the occupants for their inconvenience and sending them on an all-expense-paid trip to Walt Disney World while their home was used for the shoot. Funny that the Williams family would spend the next year bragging about their house being featured in a movie that never was.

Took half a day to rearrange and personalize, but I was just in time. There came a knock at the door, but I waited until the second one to respond.

“Hello,” I said, smiling widely as I opened the door wearing a white T-shirt, Nike shorts, and socks.

“Hey,” Taralynn said as she stood on the porch of the shotgun house. “Well, I’m here,” she added, waiting for her invite. The neighbor across the street, an elderly lady in a housecoat with a wig and sunglasses for no fucking reason, was looking suspiciously at the two strangers she’d never seen until today.

“Come on in,” I said as I waved at the neighbor, pretending it was all good for Taralynn’s benefit. My new neighbor was still frowning as I closed the door.

Based on our first encounter, I had arranged the interior a step above her notions and a step below what I considered my worst. I offered her a seat, seeing that as she lowered herself into the skinny sofa, she was dressed a lot less formal than last time. The purple hoodie and black yoga pants she wore were as if she didn’t want anybody to recognize her as the “DA’s wife.” But I didn’t know her like that these days and it was a woman’s prerogative to switch up her look. No matter. Dressed up or dressed down, she was still smokin’.

“So this is where you live, huh?” she asked as she looked around, keeping her face neutral.

“Yeah. A roof over my head. And the air works. But once I save up enough money, I’ll probably move,” I said, feigning embarrassment over my less-than-stellar accommodations. If I’d invited her to my room at the Holiday Inn, she probably would’ve thought I was trying to fuck her. Not that it couldn’t happen here, if that were my intention. “Want anything to drink? I have water, Barq’s, beer, wine,” I offered.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

“Well ... glad you could make it,” I said as I sat across from her in a chair I tried pretending great comfort with.

“Rodney’s at the office again preparing for his case. And Sasha’s at the Audubon Zoo with her friends, so I had a little bit of free time. You’re lucky you caught me. Now ... what was so urgent?” she asked.

“I ... I just ... It was so strange running into you the other day and honestly ... well. It was rushed and awkward, so I just wanted to see you again,” I said as I scooted to the edge of my seat.

“Awww,” she responded, taken aback. “That’s very sweet of you, Truth. You’ve certainly mellowed.”

“Maybe a little. But still protective of you.”

“Oh, that,” Taralynn muttered, rolling her eyes. “Still worried about that guy you ran off?”

“I won’t even pretend to know about your husband and what he does,” I started, “but if somebody’s threatening you on the street, I’d take that seriously. I used to run with cats like that, remember? I have no right, but ...”

“Yeah. You don’t,” she said, repositioning herself on the uncomfortable sofa with an uneven leg. “Believe it or not, you sound a lot like my husband. If he had his way, police would be with me twenty-four-seven, but you know the old me ain’t havin’ that. Fear is not an option.”

“Not for Still Summer, but Taralynn has more than herself to be concerned about. How about for your daughter? I’m sure she wants her mother
and
her father to be around for a long time.”

She stood up. Straight popped out her seat like a spring was under her ass. “Don’t bring Sasha into this! That’s some dirty shit you’re pulling and you have no right, Truth!” she raged as she towered over me, the protective mother borrowing the
fire
of Summer’s past. Sometimes pushing buttons can blow up in your face. And I had a serious case of emotional dynamite on my hands.

“Whoa. Easy,” I said, shielding myself half seriously. “I was just trying to point out another way of looking at things. Didn’t call you here to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“All right then,” she said, apparently satisfied. “And I apologize for snapping on you like that. I try not to think negatively because I’d lose my mind, but this upcoming trial of Rodney’s does have me stressing. I ... I’m not sleeping like I should. I’m cranky.”

“Well, sit back down and let me get you a glass of wine.”

Had a cheap brand chilling in the fridge. Smooth tasting, but with enough alcohol to get her pliable. Poured us both a glass then sat next to her. Just a shoulder to lean on; a sounding board if she wanted to get something off her chest. Didn’t expect her to down the first glass so fast, but maybe being in my presence made her more nervous than I thought. Was over a decade since we were intimate, but those connections don’t just disappear. As I began massaging her neck, I pressed on.

“What kind of trial does your husband have coming up? Murder?” I asked.

“Yeah. That and criminal conspiracy,” she said as she closed her eyes and moaned in agreement with what I was doing with my fingers. “Some big-time drug dealer from off Earhart ... Braxton Lewis. Will be glad when it’s over.”

“And you think that’s what fat man was about on Magazine?”

“Yep,” she said with a sigh. “Rodney’s busting his ass to clean things up around here. Makes for a shitload of enemies. Y’know ... this Braxton Lewis reminds me a lot of Melvin from our old On-Phire days. God, I used to be so scared of that man. I’m glad both of us were able to escape that camp,” Taralynn said as she lazily dropped her hand on my knee.

“Yeah ... me too,” I said as I stopped massaging her neck and looked into her eyes. Our foreheads touched and remained there. Got so dialed into extracting info that I’d gotten too comfortable with her for my own good. Killing her husband would be fucking her enough.

“Um ... I think I need to be going. Because this is probably not the best look for me being here,” she said ever so softly as she smartly retreated. “And me and you got ...”

“Yeah. I know,” I commented with a polite smile. “History.”

After making sure Taralynn was sober enough to drive and giving her some water to take with her, I walked her outside to her SUV.

“It was good seeing you, Summer,” I voiced, knowing I was exposing myself to a punch or an elbow. But she refrained. Stayed ladylike. She would need that resolve in the coming days.

“Likewise, Truth,” she said as she started the SUV. Jennifer Hudson was playing on her stereo. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” I replied.

As the GLK drove off, I was already on my phone, establishing a secure link.

Hey. Need a favor, I texted.

Yeah. Yeah. No speak 4 like a year then ...

Frustrated, I ended the conversation and simply called, violating protocol.

“You’re actually calling?” Lorelei Smart, the owner of the Web site 4Shizzle answered, knowing the blocked call had to be me.

“I’m desperate,” I said, knowing our last communication had been when I was in South Beach. The night I was shot.

“Go on,” she said.

“I need whatever you can pull up on a New Orleans drug dealer by the name of Braxton Lewis. Family members, et cetera.”

“Braxton Lewis. Ain’t he on trial?”

“Wow,” I responded, impressed. “You know about that?”

“Hey. I peddle in more than just gossip. Be impressed,” she crowed. “You can’t do this yourself? I normally get my intel and scoop from you, not the other way around.”

“I would, but I don’t have time. Kinda pushed into something last minute.”

“And what do I get?” Lorelei cooed.

“A story. Like the old days. If I live.”

“Cryptic. I want a fuckin’ story even if you die,” she joked.

“Deal.”

“How soon?”

“Tonight,” I said, hearing the clock ticking in my head courtesy of Mr. Smith.

Very soon, I was going to have to turn Ivan loose.

If a new wing was opening for me in hell, I at least wanted to know the layout.

BOOK: Frostbite

8.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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