Godsend 6: All Jokes Aside (2 page)

She hesitated. “Zavius.”

Etceterra said, “Stockton seems like a nice place to live.”

Derrick said, “You kept secrets from her, but she would never do that to you.”

Brian said, “When you were with Shotglass, did you swallow?’

She traded stares with him. “What does that have to do with Ramona’s disappearance?”

“Nothing, but if I can tell when you’re lying, then your ass is going to jail for possession of a stolen vehicle. Most women would lie about that. What’s your answer?”

Wendi looked away. This was absolutely embarrassing to her.

“Yes.”

Brian said, “Yes, what?”

She sighed. “Yes, I swallowed.” She felt like Shotglass would tell them anyway.

ECHO WAS DRIVING Sheree’s Mercedes while Kiandra sat in the front passenger’s seat. He said, “Now you see why I have to park a block away sometimes?”

“Yeah, but Don is still handcuffed to the bathroom sink. How is he supposed to get free?”

“He’ll either break the sink pipe, or someone he knows will show up. As for the plasticuffs, they’re tough but cheap, so he can have them.”

Kiandra said, “You said you don’t believe Don had anything to do with Ramona’s disappearance. Is that because he stuck to his story even with a gun to his neck?”

“Listen, ‘cause this is important. If a suspect or potential witness wants to act tough or talk shit, I’m inflicting pain so I can get some cooperation. If need be, I will certainly shoot without hesitation. That’s why confronting suspects and witnesses in the right place is critical. I believe Don because of his answers to our questions, not because I had him at gunpoint.”

She said, “Right, because some people will lie even with a gun to their heads. They don’t wanna die, but they don’t wanna go to prison, either.”

A light rain began. Echo activated the wipers and said, “If I cause some serious pain to somebody then threaten them with death, they won’t have any problem talking to me. But if I’m trying to get a confession, I make sure they know the main rule of confessions: tell me something about the case, or give me some detail, that only the police and the guilty one would know.”

She said, “What happens when the guilty one doesn’t want to confess even at gunpoint? They could keep denying their involvement as politely and confidently as possible. At what point do you call it a day?”

Echo said, “Well, every case will not be solved. That’s why I like to know as much about the suspect or witness before I even meet them. If you can get something on them first, that’s even better. It helps. Just be prepared to lose sometimes. We’ve solved every case we’ve worked so far, but a loss could be right around the corner. Go with what you know or feel and try not to give a fuck if you’re wrong or if you shot somebody in the knee and they turned out to be innocent.”

The rain was coming down harder now.

Echo said, “You’re doing this for the money; it just so happens that you’re doing something good for the victims’ families, or at least trying to. So what if an innocent muthafucka or two get fucked up. Your intentions were good.”

She laughed. “I won’t even ask how many times you had to kill somebody.”

He said, “This rain is hell. You want me to catch the next exit and get a hotel room?”

“Not if you think we’ll be screwing. I gave up on men a long time ago. I like pussy as much as you probably do.” “Damn. The rain ain’t that bad.”

She smiled.

He said, “When we interviewed you and the other two trainees, you said you would fuck a suspect for info.”

“Of course. I’ll be making ten grand per case. You willing to pay ten grand to screw a lesbian? If so, then get the hotel room. I’ll even pretend to like it.”

“I definitely wanna fuck you now, but I wouldn’t pay you a roll of nickels. What, you like tongue better than dick? Can I get a room and lick you for free? I ain’t got to put it in.”

She laughed hard at that one. “You are one crazy muthafucka. I bet you got more than a few women at your ass.”

“Los Angeles is over three hundred miles from here. You want the pussy sucked or what?”

She shook her head and said, “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“I guess me getting some head is out of the question.” Kiandra laughed again then reclined her seat all the way back.

“Wake me up when it’s my turn to drive.”

He glanced at her reclined body. “If you let me play in it while I drive, you’ll fall asleep faster.”

ZAVIUS “SHOTGLASS” GRANT was naturally funny, but two years ago, he decided he should get paid for making people laugh. Twenty-two club performances later, he was considered “the best free-form comic in America,” according to USA Today. As revealed in a People magazine article, Shotglass was a comic with a natural gift to make you laugh. He had never written down any material and never rehashed the same humor. “He is truly an impromptu comic. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say five minutes from now, but he can keep you laughing all day.”

Thursday night at the Improv in West Hollywood. Shotglass was on stage wearing a sleek mic headset. He wanted full use of his hands when performing. The place was full—everyone wanted to see Shotglass—but Brian and Janelle, Echo and Kiandra, and Derrick and Etceterra were taking up three of those tables.

Shotglass was a handsome black man at six feet two, 203 pounds. He always sounded slightly hoarse, but there was nothing he could do about it; it was part of his identity. He wore a T-shirt with dress slacks and dress shoes, and the crowd was still on their feet and clapping.

Shotglass finally urged them to sit down then said, “I appreciate the ovation. Now I guess y’all feel like I owe you something.”

There was some laughter. They knew he was about to get on a roll and explode; they were simply preparing themselves.

“Bin Laden was found in a big-ass stucco mansion. Inside, the place was dirty as hell but cups and bags from Jimmy Riff’s Biscuits and Catfish.”

It was on. The laughter level went up.

“They say he had a flock of bitches living on the compound, suicide bunnies. Well he shoulda been kickin them bitches across the ass for keeping a dirty pad. Nobody prays five times a day at the fuckin city dump.” Shotglass knew he had full control of the crowd now. He was not going to give them enough time to finish laughing at a joke. It was always on to the next one.

“Muthafucka didn’t have cable, and the satellite dish didn’t work because one of them bitches wrote a bad check to Dish-on-Demand. So he had a clothes hanger connected to the TV, bent toward the West to pick up TNT.” He almost laughed at that one; he didn’t even know it was coming.

Brian and Janelle were laughing as hard as anyone, and they knew Shotglass was not even in full gear yet.

“My mom never kept a dirty pad, but my dad didn’t appreciate her, though. She used to tell him, ‘I’m leaving you.’ One day she made that threat and he said, ‘You been leaving for ten damn years. Even if you travel by turtle, it don’t take that long to get nowhere on earth. What you need, some gas money? Plane ticket? Some fix-a-flat? Turtle wax?”

The crowd was roaring.

“My girlfriend don’t like the size of my dick. It’s almost nine inches, but she says her pussy’s most-sensitive area is within the first three inches of depth, which is why she prefers my tongue.”

Echo and Kiandra looked at each other.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day when short-dicked dudes got the advantage. My girlfriend made me feel embarrassed for being fairly endowed, so I told her, “Bitch, no tongue action until you clean up this dirty pad.” He shook his head while they were laughing. “I’m just bullshittin; I would never call a bitch a bitch. All bitches deserve better than that.”

KIANDRA AND ECHO had just left the Improv. She was driving her aunt’s Hyundai Genesis in the late-night congestion on Melrose Avenue. Echo sat in the front passenger’s seat, impressed with the Hollywood glitz and glamour. In a span of three minutes, he’d already spotted a Bentley, a Lamborghini, and a Ferrari. He’d seen such cars before, but this seemed like a car show.

He said to Kiandra, “You like the show?”

“Like it?” Shotglass had me crying. I couldn’t stop laughing, and that gave me a slight headache.”

“Yeah, he’s a funny muthafucka, especially when he was talking about Santa Claus taking a dump at the mall and he walked in on him with his little nephew.”

Kiandra started laughing again. They were on their way to her house in Watts.

The plan was for Echo to spend the night there—no sex of course—so that they could surprise Vincent Nichols bright and early in Compton.

Kiandra said, “If we learn that Shotglass definitely had something to do with Ramona’s disappearance, would you treat him the same way you treat other suspects?”

“I like Shotglass, but not enough to let him get away with murdering a woman. I will certainly make him suffer if he’s even halfway guilty.”

“That’s too bad for him. I hear he’s doing good. Went from Stockton to Sacramento and then Santa Paula in three years. Really two years. After his big concert coming up, he’s supposed to start working on a major motion picture. You think we’ll get him before his Where Was I? concert?”

Echo shrugged. “Depends on how shit turns out with his cousin Vincent.” They were in a traffic line at a red light. There were three beautiful white women and a beautiful black woman in a Rolls Royce on Echo’s side. He lowered his window and motioned for the white driver to lower hers. It was the first week of January, and the night air was more than cool.

The Rolls Royce driver lowered her window and said, “What’s happening?” She was smiling.

Echo said, “Me and my friend need some directions. We’re new in this town.”

“Sure. Where are you trying to get to?”

He said, “To your place. The six of us could do some nasty shit. The pizza’s on me.”

The woman said, “You’re an asshole, you know that?’

“You’re judging us because we’re in a Hyundai. Rodney King was in a Hyundai and he ended up being a millionaire.” When she rolled her window up on him, he looked at Kiandra and said, “I tried to get us some pussy but . . .”

Kiandra said, “Woulda been nice.”

That statement alone made Echo’s dick jump. “I don’t sleep on no couches or floors. We ain’t got to fuck, but I’m sleeping in your bed.”

She said, “Echo, I need a small favor.” She used her door controls to raise his window.

“I already know. When we shower, you want us to do it together so you can save money on your water bill.”

She laughed. “No, fool.” Then she hesitated, stalled. “I had an abortion three months ago.”

“Oh, I don’t even want the pussy now. Your girlfriend is a drag queen.”

“I was raped by a muthafucka named Breno Riley. He’s a Crip member who lives in Compton and Whittier.”

“Raped?”

“Yep. Didn’t even know the guy. I need to get back at his ass, but he always has two of his gang members with him. Had ‘em with him when he raped me, but they just watched out for him.”

Echo said, “And you want me to help you get to Breno, as a small favor?’

“Well, you can charge me and I’ll be glad to pay you back once I start making money with Godsend.”

Echo laughed this time. The traffic was finally moving again. He said. “I’m not expanding your credit line. Keep your money. You owe me two hours of sex tonight and a whole day of sex with you and your girlfriend later in the week. If you agree, we can pull up on Vincent in the morning and get at Breno’s ass tomorrow night.”

She didn’t even have to think about it. “I think I can get my girl to join us one time.”

He said, “Breno’s ass is in a lot of fuckin’ trouble.”

AT FOUR IN THE morning, Brian pulled out his driveway in his Yukon. He was now living in Acton, California, about sixty-five miles north of Los Angeles by highway. The 3-bedroom wooden home rested on two acres of land that had nice-looking trees for shade. The neighborhood was quiet, and the homes were cozy, nothing fancy, with plenty of space to separate them.

Brian and Janelle liked 807 Kitner Road as a family home for LaRia and Trenae, their adorable little girls. The home was also perfect for Fraction, their 26-week-old German Shepherd, but the dog would be gone for the next eight weeks at a dog training school.

Brian called Echo but reached his voicemail. He said, “Teresa just got back at me. She can’t reach you but said you wanted info on Breno Riley. Specific info. Well, the DEA has him under investigation, so watch your step. His cell phone is in his girlfriend’s name, and it’s been tracked to the Tahoe Grove Inn. That’s in South Lake Tahoe, about fifty—something miles south of Reno, Nevada. Maybe he’s on a winter vacation, and I don’t know when he’ll return to either one of his houses.”

After only slowing for a stop sign at the end of his road he said,

“Let me know how the Vincent interview turn out; I’m meeting up with Derrick and Etceterra so we can grill Kale McFarland up in Ojai, California.”