Pernicious (49 page)

         
Perry kissed him, on the cheek. “Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Neal attempted to kiss her again, and she dodged him. “Neal, I figured we’d go over there at nine, all right?”

         
“Okay, fine with me. Give me a kiss.”

         
Perry wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped into his arms. “I love you, Neal!” She kissed him, sucking hard on his tongue, moaning loudly.

         
She opened his shirt and clamped her teeth on his nipple. “Hey!” Neal said. She reached behind and grabbed his sex. “Hey!”

         
He had trouble holding her, and tried to push her up to get a better grip…Perry resisted, maintaining the suction on his nipple and the handlock on his…“Hey!” She leaned to her left, and he staggered that way…and they fell…Perry’s laugh the last thing he heard before hitting the water.

         
Neal started swimming and Perry held his waist…He felt her unzip him…felt her mouth…Then he was pushed up.

         
Treading water, Neal said, “Do it again. Finish what you started.”

         
Perry laughed, shook her head.

         
“Come on. You got me all worked up.”

         
She kissed him. “Let’s go check on your son.”

                                     
* * * * *

         
Derrick lay on the kitchen floor, asleep.

         
Neal shook him. “Wake up, Derrick. Let’s go get in the bed.” Derrick didn’t flinch.

         
“Looks like he’s pretty tuckered out,” Perry said.

         
“I’ve never seen him this tired before. He’s knocked out.” Neal picked him up. “I’ll put him to bed.”

         
“You can put him in our bed. While you’re doing that I need to run to the mall. I shouldn’t be gone no more than an hour or so.”

         
In a spare bedroom, Perry changed into a pair of black pants, a black silk shirt and black tennis shoes, and tucked her hair under an Oakland Raiders baseball cap.

         
She crept downstairs and out the front door. Outside she peered inside Neal’s Hugo.
It would be my luck he’s low on gas.
The gauge rested near the halfway mark. Inside the Mercedes, she checked the time. Ten till five. Backing out of the driveway she remembered her cell phone. After retrieving it from the Cadillac she was finally on her way.

         
Nearing Tasha’s apartment complex, she called Black and White Taxicab. “Yes, may I have a cab at the Woodbridge Apartments, please?”

         
“Apartment number?” the dispatcher asked.

         
“I’m outside by the pool.”

         
“We need an apartment number.”

         
Perry couldn’t remember Tasha’s apartment number, and even if she could, she couldn’t give it. “Sir, I’m late for work and I really need a ride. Would you please dispatch a cab!”

         
“Okay, lady. Make sure you’re there. Where you headed?”

         
“Target. The one off Chenal. Thanks.”

         
She checked the time. Fifteen after five. When she drove by the unmanned guard shack into the apartment complex, she donned her sunglasses. She drove past Tasha’s Honda Accord.

         
She hasn’t left yet. All alone. No man, no brat, just her and her dildo
.
 
    

         
She couldn’t quite decide where to park. Couldn’t park too far away because the longer it took to walk to her car, the more time it allowed the police to arrive. Couldn’t park too close to Tasha’s apartment because someone might see her drive away and make the plates.

         
After circling the lot two times, she decided to park in front of the laundromat, located two buildings behind Tasha’s.

         
Here, she figured, was the ideal spot. Not too far, not too close.
I could easily slip between the two buildings, head toward the front, then double back here
.

         
She’d gotten out of the car and started walking when she noticed a county sheriff’s cruiser parked five cars down.

         
Shit! How did I miss that?
She got back in her car.
If he lives here he’ll come running, playing the hero.

         
Frustrated, she finally parked at a liquor store outside of the apartment complex, a block away. She checked her watch. 5:37
. Shit! I bet that cab is waiting.

         
Perry contemplated if she should tell the cashier that she was having car trouble and would be back in a few hours to pick it up, but decided not.

         
Not wanting to run, she jogged back to the complex. Nearing the entrance, she saw a Black and White taxi pulling out. She flagged it down.

         
“You call a cab?” the driver asked, pulling alongside.

         
She hopped in. “I sure did.”

         
“Where to?” the driver said, staring at her in the rearview mirror.

         
Keep your eyes off me, asshole!
“Target, on Chenal.”

         
The driver tried to make small talk but she ignored him.
      
Shut up and drive!
       

         
Fifteen minutes later, she paid him, got out in front of Target and started walking the six blocks to her house. It was a quarter after six when she made it to her front yard. She went straight to the Cadillac. If she hurried, she could get to Laskers before Tasha arrived.

                                     
Chapter 25

         
Tasha drove down Asher Avenue, once a bustling strip of restaurants and small businesses; now the city’s red-light district. Block after block of vandalized buildings, businesses deserted and forgotten long ago, interspersed with an ubiquitous liquor store.

         
Pimps, prostitutes, addicts, winos, and a motley of homeless persons traversed the sidewalks on either side of the street, all hours, day and night. Everyone else drove, and drove fast. The speed limit on Asher was thirty-five miles per hour, though most of the steady traffic clipped along at fifty or more.

         
Tasha was going almost seventy, zipping past cars and eighteen wheelers, running red lights. She wanted to get to Laskers restaurant a few minutes ahead of Perry. The digital clock on the dash said 6:45.

         
Her left leg shook. Derrick’s life was practically in Perry’s hand. And she, his mother, had put him there. If this goes badly, she thought, and Derrick were to get hurt or…She tried to redirect her thoughts, but couldn’t switch the track.

         
If something happens to Derrick I’m done.
“Done!”

         
She flew past the county jail…the state fairground…At the light just before a bridge on Interstate 30, Tasha made a hard right and drove toward Laskers, a dark-blue frame house that looked more like a juke joint than a restaurant.

         
She whipped the Honda into the gravel parking lot and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Perry’s Cadillac parked on the right side of the restaurant.

         
Tasha turned off the engine, took a deep breath and got out. A fey odor of raw fish hit her before she reached the steps. She heard Ruth Brown singing
Why Me
. At the door she took another deep breath, said a silent prayer and stepped in.

         
The jukebox was to the right of the door, blaring a little too loudly to her liking. Dinette tables in the middle flanked by rows of booths on either side. At a counter in the rear several people stood in line placing take-out orders.

         
On every wall were portraits of famous and not-so famous African Americans. Malcolm X, Nolan Richardson, Martin Luther King Jr., Medgar Evers, Elijah Muhammad, Sidney Montcrief and Keith Jackson.
         

         
Tasha saw a hand go up.

         
“Over here,” Perry said, waving, in a booth in the back.

         
Tasha crossed to her. “Hello, Perry.”

         
“Hello, Detective Montgomery,” Perry said, friendly. Too friendly, Tasha thought. “Have a seat.”

         
Tasha noticed Perry wasn’t wearing any makeup. Sans the ruby-red lipstick, the flesh-tone rouge, the charcoal-black eye-shadow.

         
Her hair, which usually looked poured on, was slightly frazzled, several strains here and there out of place. Sweat beaded her nose. Black shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, as if she were prepared for physical labor.

         
“You want something to eat?” Perry asked. “The catfish here is just fabulous. I’m buying.”

         
“No, I’m not hungry.”
Something’s happening here
, she could feel it. She looked at the glass of water before her, a paper straw next to it, and thought:
No way I’m drinking from that glass.

         
“Something to drink?” Perry said. “They sell beer here.”

         
“No thanks, I’m fine.”

         
“Your appointment…Are you okay?”

         
Tasha nodded.

         
Perry raised her hand and wriggled three fingers. A short man wearing a rather dirty white apron crossed to their table with pen and pad.

         
Perry smiled at him. “I’ll take a six-piece catfish platter. No sides, okay? Just fish. And another coke, please.” To Tasha: “You sure you don’t want anything? Something to drink?”

         
Tasha handed the man the glass of water. “I’ll take a coke, in a different glass, please!”

         
When the man left, Perry laughed. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”

         
What’s she up to?
“No, Perry, I don’t trust you. Why should I?”