Playing Dirty (13 page)

W
ith the police department seizing my Aston Martin, I was forced to use an alternate method of transportation to get home. That was some bullshit, but it was procedure for Miami PD. If a defendant was busted for drugs, they had to await the outcome of their case before the car was returned to them. As the taxi driver drove away from the firm, I sighed and sank down into the cracked leather seats. I sat in the back, leaned my head back, and prayed for my bed.

When I reached my building, I’d never been so happy to see the smiling face of my doorman. For the first time since I’d moved into the swank high-rise, I didn’t have enough cash to offer him a tip for opening the car door for me. I could’ve given him what I had left of my cocaine money, but my brain was telling me that no one else deserved to spend my fucking money, but me.

I started to apologize, but then decided he’d gotten plenty from me in the past. “Fuck him,” I mumbled under my breath. The doorman looked at me strangely; it was like he pitied me. I saw his entire demeanor change through my peripheral vision as I walked away. I turned around to give him a brief stare, just to catch him off guard, but my whole mission was thrown off when I looked back and saw an unmarked car posted on the other side of my street facing my building.

Inside were two detectives in plain clothes. Both of them were Caucasian men with crew cuts, like they were straight out of the military. But what spooked me about them was that they weren’t trying to hide themselves. They sat in their car with their front windows rolled down, like they wanted me to see them.

At that moment I became angry, because not only did they invade my office, but now they were bringing that shit to my home. I couldn’t have that. I knew I couldn’t walk over to them and tell them to carry their asses away, because they were on public domain. But I could give those bastards my ass to kiss and then take myself up to my penthouse apartment. That would make me feel real good. But then I figured, what good would that do?

Instead of giving those clowns any of my time, I walked back up to the doorman and asked how long those detectives had been parked there.

“Oh, they’ve been parked there for about an hour now,” he replied.

“Have they been into the building?” I wanted to know.

“No, they haven’t gotten out of the car,” he continued, and then he said, “But I’m sure they’re staking out someone who lives in this building.”

“I’m sure they are, too,” I responded. The words he had uttered pierced my mind and gave me an instant stomachache. I had to get away, so I walked off without saying another word. It was obvious that this clown had no idea what was going on. If he knew that those detectives were there watching my every move, he’d probably shit bricks and tell everyone inside the entire building. I couldn’t have that. That would be too much drama for me.

I held the keys to my penthouse in my hand during the elevator ride and all I could think about were those idiots who were parked outside. I knew they were from Maria’s office, so I was tempted to call her to see why they were posted outside my damn building. Hadn’t they had enough of invading my privacy? This shit was getting out of control, and I wasn’t going to take too much more of their bullshit! When I reached my door, I noticed a package in front.

“Now, why hasn’t Ophelia picked this up?” I grumbled. I lifted the small paper-bag-colored box. It was addressed to me, with no return address. I hoisted it under my arm and continued inside. My first thought was that Maria’s people must’ve left it there to set me up. But then I remembered my doorman telling me that they hadn’t come into the building, so it would’ve been impossible for them to set this package here.

Immediately after I entered my home, I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, once I passed the threshold of my own door.

“Phew, what the fuck is that smell?” I complained aloud. Now, I knew Ophelia could not have been here, because if she had, she damn sure had some fucking explaining to do. There was a stench emanating throughout my entire penthouse. It smelled like rotting garbage coming from my kitchen, and I wasn’t about to go clean or take out any fucking garbage. That is what I paid Ophelia to do.

I threw the box onto the small occasional table that sat in my foyer and headed straight for my bedroom. I needed a hot shower and my own bed. Everything in the house was just as I’d left it thirty-six hours ago. It looked like Ophelia had never come in to clean or do any of her regular work.

Although I hadn’t ventured to the front of my penthouse, where the kitchen was, I could still tell that Ophelia hadn’t done anything at all in the house, and that fucking smell was killing me. Not only that, Ophelia not showing up for work struck me as strange. She had been so loyal to me over the years, so something had to be wrong. Maybe she had a family emergency and couldn’t contact me because I was locked up. Yeah, that probably was it. And since I had too much shit on my mind to dwell on it, I went about my merry way.

I peeled off the dirty-ass clothes I had on the entire time I had been detained. If my outfit hadn’t cost two grand, calculating the top, the bottom, and the shoes, I would’ve burned that shit. I left the dirty clothes right where I stepped out of them. That was my usual way. Ophelia would get them, and so I wasn’t worried about it.

After I turned on the shower, I hopped inside the tub and let the steaming hot water rain down on my body like it was coming from heaven itself. I picked up my Origins coconut shampoo and washed my hair, over and over again. I wanted to wash away the dirt from that jail cell and, if possible, the demons that were haunting my brain.

When I stepped out of my glass-encased shower, I immediately clicked on the TV that hung over the tub. It was a force of habit. The weather was on the news; I’d missed all the headlines, so I just clicked through the channels. “Nothing on TV as usual,” I complained into the air. I walked back out into my bedroom and flopped down on my soft pillow-top bed. “Ahh, home sweet home.”

I looked around my room and realized that I really had it going on. I lived in the lap of luxury, and I wasn’t going to lose my shit at no cost. Since my personal belongings, including my BlackBerry, were with the police, I flipped open my laptop to retrieve my messages. I was sure there’d be a bunch. I assumed there would be a lot of new client requests, and more messages from Maria.

I really didn’t want to hear from anyone. It was bad enough the fucking DEA was parked outside my building. I couldn’t tell you what they were doing, because I’m not a mind reader. However, if they thought they were going to catch me speaking to Juan Alvarez, they had another thing coming. My business with that man was over. That chapter of my life was closed. So they had better move along and investigate someone else.

I was able to pick up my BlackBerry messages through my computer and there was a message from an address that I didn’t recognize:
OPEN YOUR PACKAGE.
I looked at the e-mail address and could not place it. I sent a message back, but got nothing in return.

I noticed that the e-mail address was a phone number, like it had been sent from a cell phone. I reached over and grabbed my house landline and dialed the number. It just rang, and when the voice mail picked up, there was no one’s voice on the other end, just the standard computer-generated greeting.

I’d actually forgotten someone had left me a package, until I read that message. I immediately wondered if it was another gift from Luis and Adrianna, or maybe Mr. Choo. Then again, it could have been Mr. Heimlich, another rich bastard whose life I’d saved. I put on my plush white terry cloth robe and walked back into the foyer to retrieve the package.

When I lifted the box, I took a mental note that things inside the box were shifting around. There weren’t too many people loving me right now…so curiosity had me ripping at the box like a maniac. When I finally got the box opened, the first thing I saw shining at me was a badge. I picked up the small gold badge with blue writing and read it.
DEA
. Then I read the badge number:
7757
. “Maria’s badge?” I mumbled. A pang of panic struck me in the gut and I frantically began pulling things out of the box.

I found Maria’s DEA credentials, with her picture and her gun holster. I dropped the items back into the box, shaking my head back and forth. I was confused. My hands were suddenly shaking uncontrollably. This shit was strange and didn’t seem right. I raced into my bedroom, tripping over my own feet. I dived onto the bed to reach my phone. I hit the speed dial for Maria’s number. Her voice mail came straight on. Her phone was off. I scrolled through my contacts and dialed Hanna, Maria’s sister. No answer.

“What the fuck is going on!” I screamed. Although our last conversation wasn’t all that pleasant, Maria’s belongings being mailed to me just didn’t sit right with me. Wouldn’t she need them for work every day? I contemplated calling the police. She could be hurt and whoever had her had sent her things to me, to send me a message. Then I decided against it. What if this was a false alarm? But then I figured that it couldn’t be. People don’t play games like this.

While I was trying to make sense of what was going on, I hadn’t even realized I was walking around my floor in circles. Then a couple minutes later, six or seven loud knocks hit my front door. The shit startled the hell out of me. And before I could make my way to see who it was, the knocks got louder and became more frequent. The knocks sounded more like loud bangs.

When I approached the foyer that led to the front door, I stared down the hallway. I couldn’t believe it, I was scared to go near the door. I had no idea what the fuck was going on. The knocks grew louder and louder, and whoever it was who was knocking was not going to give up easily. Finally I grabbed Maria’s things and stuffed them back into the box. I hurriedly put the box in my hallway closet before I approached the door.

“Who is it?” I screamed from my side of the door.

“DEA!” a man’s voice called out from the other side. I didn’t trust that shit. Not right now. Not with Paul sneaking up on me and Sheldon’s goons threatening me. It could’ve been anyone behind that door. But then again, I figured that it would be the idiots who were posted outside my building. So I immediately thought, what did they want with me? To search my house for evidence that could link me to Juan Alvarez? Nah, that couldn’t be it. And if it was, it was definitely a lost cause for them.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, my face pressed close to the door.

“We need to talk to you about Maria Hernandez,” the man stated. He had me when he said Maria’s name. I pulled back the door to find the same two men who had been sitting outside in their unmarked car. They wore the usual black suits, wingtip shoes, and low buzz-cut hair. Both men immediately rushed into my penthouse foyer before I could say a word.

“I need to see some ID,” I demanded. Both men pulled out credentials at the same time.

“What is going on?” I asked.

“Ms. Lomax, we are here to investigate the disappearance of Maria Hernandez. From what we understand, you may have been the last person to have spoken with her,” the taller agent Patterson, stated.

“Where is she?” I asked; the question just rolled off my tongue unconsciously. My nerves completely took over my actions and I could not recant what I had just said, even though I wanted to do it badly. All I could think about was the package with Maria’s things in it, and now this…. The total picture wasn’t looking so good. And it appeared that I was smack-dab in the middle of this shit. At the very moment my stomach knotted up, I wanted to vomit.

“That’s what we need to find out,” the other agent interjected.

“Well, we would normally have lunch a couple of times a week. But lately my schedule has been so hectic, I hadn’t been able to commit.”

“Cut the crap! We know you two haven’t been on good terms since our investigation with Juan Alvarez went bust!” the taller agent insisted.

“Well, if you know everything, then why are you here asking me questions?” I snapped.

“Let us ask the questions, please,” the other agent spoke up.

I stood there with disgust written all over my face. I wanted to tell these crackers to get out of my damn house, but I wasn’t trying to ruffle their feathers. I figured the best tactic to use would be to be nice and to cooperate so they could carry their asses away. “Look, I spoke with her less than forty-eight hours ago. We talked very briefly, and then that was it. I haven’t spoken with her since,” I explained.

My mind was racing with thoughts. I didn’t know if I should tell them that someone mailed me Maria’s things. The way things were looking, they weren’t too happy with me because of Juan Alvarez. So I knew if I told them about the package, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d probably handcuff me on the spot and haul my ass down to their headquarters. They went strictly by the “arrest now, talk later” policy, and I wasn’t up for that one. I had just gotten out of jail, so I couldn’t stand for another overnight stay. And the way things were looking with this, there was no telling how long I’d be there with them.

“Did Maria say where she was, when you last spoke with her?” the shorter agent asked. I thought about it for a minute and reflected back on our conversation.

“No, as a matter of fact, she didn’t,” I said flatly.

“Where have you been for the past thirty-six hours?” the taller agent asked.

Shit! I thought. If I tell them I was locked up on other charges, it was bound to get back to Paul and the other attorneys. I would be a laughingstock, and these bastards right here would tell it all. So I hesitated for a second, trying to think of a good lie, but then I decided against it. Who was I kidding? These motherfuckers were going to check my alibi as soon as they walked out my front door. And when they found out that I was lying, they were going to really be down my ass then, and I couldn’t have that, especially when I hadn’t done shit. So, what was I to do? I definitely couldn’t tell them I had been arrested for possession of cocaine. After all, they were the DEA—so their next question would be, where did I get my drugs from? Now that was some heat I did not need.