Private Deceptions (13 page)

While I was on the plane, I thought about the fact that I had been around the world a few times, but I’d never been to LA. So in addition to the case, I decided to do a little site seeing, play tourist. It was late when I arrived at LAX too late to try to see Felicia Hardy. So I rented a car, blue Mustang convertible, bought a map and rolled around to get the feel of the place.

By nine o’clock the next morning, I pulled up in front of the Victoria Aveune address that I had gotten from Reggie. I walked up to the door and rang the bell. It wasn’t too long before the door opened. But just a crack.

"Felicia Hardy?" When she didn’t respond, I continued. "Miss Hardy, my name is Nick Simmons and I’d like to talk to you about Pamela Hendricks."

"Just a minute. I gotta put something on," she said and closed the door. I stood there thinking that she didn’t have to go to any trouble on my account.

"Come on in." She opened the door a little wider and I stepped inside. I heard the door close and felt the barrel of what felt like a 44-magnum stuck in my back.

Naturally I raised my hands.

"Just keep walking toward that wall and assume the position." I complied with her request. Felicia proceeded to search me, a very thorough search at that. Not the kind of pat down you’d get from a man. With her gun in her right hand, she ran her left hand over every inch of my body. Which included a handful of groin.

"Huh," she mumbled as she continued.

When she was finished, Felicia had relieved me of my ID and all three of my guns. Most people miss the holster that hangs midway down my back.

Felicia slowly backed away from me. "Now turn around. Nice and slow."

I complied.

Without breaking eye contact, she carefully picked up a set of handcuffs. I watched her move. Her picture didn’t do her justice, even in a big tee shirt and sweats; she was much prettier in person.

"Hold out your hands."

Once again I complied with her request. I was impressed as she put the handcuffs on me. Still staring into my eyes. Still pointing that big ass gun in my face. "Sit down over there."

"Thank you," I said, remembering my manners. I sat down in the chair closest to me, and Felicia sat across from me.

"Give me a reason not to shoot you and call the police."

"Believe me, Ms Hardy, I mean you no harm. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into a missing persons case and I believe there is some connection to Pamela Hendricks."

"Who are you looking for?"

"Jake Rollins. Do you know him?"

"For the time being you let me ask the questions. How did you find me?"

"I’d rather not say." She raised the gun. "I saw your file," I lied.

"Bullshit! How’d you find me?"

"Change of address card."

"Bullshit! If you got the information from the post office, the police would be here." She pulled back the hammer.

"Somebody owed me a favor."

"Reggie."

I smiled.

"I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him."

"Don’t be too hard on Reggie, he didn’t tell the cops. Or anybody else."

"But you, he just up and told you."

"Like I said, he owed me."

"What do you know about Pamela?" Felicia demanded.

"I was going to ask you that."

"It’s early and I’m not in the mood for games."

"I know she died of what appeared to be a cocaine overdose, but the police didn’t find any traces of drugs in her system. I know you and her were roommates and that you most likely found the body and called the police. I know you used to be a cop." I raised my cuffed hands. "You quit the force to go back to school. How’s that going by the way?"

"About Pamela." She lowered the gun, but just a little.

"I know her and Mrs. Childers used to work together at a bank in Kansas City. I know that she came to New York from Kansas City to work for Manhattan Bank. But what I’d like to know from you, is who she was, how and why she died, and who killed her?"

"What makes you think I could tell you that?"

"Well, your roommate was most likely murdered in your apartment. You called the police, but you didn’t wait around to talk to them. Then you break into the crime scene, take your stuff, and come out here. If I wasn’t convinced by all that, then the fact that I’m wearing handcuffs and you’re pointing a gun at me, pushed me over the edge."

"Is that a fact?"

"Was it you who found the body?"

"Yes."

"Why didn’t you stay?"

"Who hired you?"

"Jake Rollins sister."

"Which one? The wannabe lady or the tramp?"

"The lady. She used to work at the bank in Kansas City with Pamela."

"What makes you think Pamela knew anything about Jake’s disappearing?"

"I’ve got pictures in my jacket pocket of her at Jake’s party."

Felicia stood up and walked toward me. I was smiling, enjoying the view until she put the gun to my head. "Don’t even think about doing anything stupid. I don’t mind killing you."

"Believe me, that wasn’t what I was thinking about." Felicia carefully removed the pictures from my pocket and returned to her spot.

She rested the gun on the table and glanced at one of the pictures. "LaShawn. I knew the girl was wild, but damn." She glanced at the rest and put them down.

I made note of the fact that even though she had only glanced at them, Felicia knew it was LaShawn and not Pamela right away. "She died two weeks ago under the same circumstances as Pamela. Pamela had Jake’s card on her when the police found her body."

"How do you know that?"

"The police told me."

"You’re working with the police?"

"Unofficially. I guess you can say that. My guess is they weren’t getting away with linking Pamela to Jake so they threw me the bone."

"Why you?"

"Other than Mrs. Childers being my client, I know a little something about the people involved in this."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"How long were you a cop?"

"Four years. Why?"

"You’ve heard of Mike Black?"

"Vicious Black."

There it is again. Why does every woman say his name like that?

"Who hasn’t heard of him?"

"He’s an old associate. Reggie owes him a favor too."

"So you used to run with Vicious Black, huh?"

"Yes," I said, with a newfound sense of pride. "But not for the last ten years."

"Why not?"

"Joined the army."

"So now you’re a private investigator and the police have been feeding you information." Felicia stood up again. I was hoping she was coming to take the cuffs off. They were starting to hurt, but she picked up the gun, walked toward the window, and looked out. "I didn’t think the police had anything." She turned around and came back toward me. It produced the same response as it did the first time. She stood before me and raised the gun. "How do I know I can trust you? I mean how do I know that whoever killed Pamela didn’t send you?"

"Then you do think she was murdered?"

"I know she was murdered. Pamela didn’t do drugs."

"But that’s not why you think she was murdered. Why’d you leave before the cops came?"

"Other than that innocent look in those brown eyes. Tell me why I should trust you?"

"I can’t think of any right now, but if I had to come up with something," I paused to give it the desired effect. "First of all, I wouldn’t have come here alone. I wouldn’t have let you take me without any resistance. And if I had come here to kill you, I would have just blasted you at the door."

Felicia smiled at me for the first time. She had a pretty smile. Then she laughed a little, but I guess it wasn’t enough to make her take the cuffs off. She simply returned to her spot and put the gun down. I was happy for that much.

"Mind if I ask you a question, Ms Hardy?"

"Go ahead."

"You just glanced at those pictures."

"So."

"You can barely see her face in most of them. How did you know it was LaShawn?"

"LaShawn always wears her hair like that."

"So does Pamela."

"No, she doesn’t."

"In one of those pictures. The one with two of them."

Felicia picked up the pictures and fanned through them until she found it. "This one?"

"That’s the one. See, same ponytail. And the picture I got of the two of you out of Pamela’s room. By the way, your picture doesn’t do you justice, but she’s wearing a ponytail."

"That doesn’t mean that’s how she always wore it. Both of those pictures were taken on the same day. I remember that day. She was going to Jake’s birthday party and she didn’t have time to get her hair fixed. I told her with her hair pulled back like that she looked like LaShawn."

"Why didn’t you go to the party?"

"I knew the type of people that would be at any party Gee was throwin’. Pamela would always ask me if I wanted to go, but I was a cop. I wouldn’t be caught dead up in there."

"Mind if I ask you another question?"

"I’ll save you the trouble. No, to my knowledge Pamela wasn’t laundering money. That is what you and the police want to know, isn’t it? What is your name, again?"

"Nick Simmons. I’m pleased to meet you. And yes, that is what I was going to ask you."

"Cops think so?"

"I got that impression."

"That’s why I don’t want to talk to them. Once they figured out she was murdered and it was drug related, they’d start thinking money laundering and then they’d start looking at me. I’m sure someone has gone through my file and my arrest records looking to link me to this shit. And if they really want to, they’ll find something, whether its there or not."

"Do you think that your leaving the way you did helped?" But Felicia didn’t answer me.

"I used to tell her all the time that it didn’t look good for her to be in her position at the bank and be associating with a known drug dealers wife, and goin’ to their parties. But she would always say that for that to be a problem, she’d have to be doing something wrong, and her record at the bank would speak for itself."

"You mind if I ask you another question?"

"You don’t have to ask me that every time you want to ask me something. Go ahead."

"Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No." Felicia let out a little laugh.

"I haven’t either. And I’m hungry, so can we finish this conversation over breakfast? I promise I’ll behave myself even without handcuffs."

Felicia looked at me as if I had lost my mind. She picked up her gun and walked toward me again. She stood in front of me, not speaking. As if she was deciding right then how it was goin’ to be between us. She looked into my eyes. I locked my eyes in hers. She exhaled and left the room.

"Shit," I said quietly.

For a second there, I thought we were having a moment. You know, the kind that James Bond always has when the girl kisses and then releases him. I felt the pain in my wrists. "Live in reality, Nick. This ain’t no fuckin’ movie." I didn’t think she was going to kill me, so I didn’t try to leave. I couldn’t, not after coming all this way. She knows something. Something major, and she was scared because she knew it.

Twenty minutes later, Felicia returned to the room. She had changed into black jeans and heels. She still had on a tee shirt, but this one fit her. She had a holster on and had traded her 44 for a .9. "You better be real." She leaned forward and unlocked the cuffs.

"Thank you. They were starting to hurt," I said rubbing my wrists. I stood up and started walking toward the table to collect my hardware.

"Hold up," she said, as I reached. "We haven’t gotten that far yet."

"No guns, huh."

"For the time being, I think it’s best if I carry the gun. But I tell you what." She moved closer to me. "Pick one."

"One?"

"Yes. One. And I’ll hold on to that. If you’re a good boy and you don’t give me any trouble, I may let you earn it back."

"Either one of the .9’s will do." Felicia stuck my gun in her jacket pocket and left the other two on the table. I stood for a second, looking at my guns. I wasn’t getting a good feeling about leaving them.

"You coming?"

I turned around and she was pointing my .9 at me.

"Yeah, I’m coming."

I walked out of the house feeling naked. I tried, but couldn’t remember the last time I went some place unarmed.

"Which one is yours?" She stopped and put my gun back in her pocket. "No, let me guess. First time in LA?"

"Yes." I stopped and frowned.

"Blue convertible." She was playing me like a tourist. Which I was, but she didn’t have to play me. I unlocked her door and she got in. As soon as I got in she said, "Go ahead and drop the top. I know you want to."

She was right, so I dropped the top.

Once we pulled off, Felicia took my gun out of her pocket and rested it on her lap. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Simply Wholesome on Sousean, make a left here."

We arrived at Simply Wholesome and were promptly seated. We sat quietly as our waitress arrived to take our orders. She filled our coffee cups and left us.