Devilish Details (12 page)

“Now you’re talking sense,” Willa said.
“MiMi, you have Sage to consider. This isn’t a game.”

“Of course I’d never put Sage in any danger.
We’re trying to settle her father’s estate. Filipe or any of those
gang members won’t care about...” MiMi’s voice died away when Jazz
and Tyretta headed for the door.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Tyretta said. She
waved goodbye to Willa and MiMi before scurrying out.

Jazz rolled her eyes and faced Willa. “You
know she’s hoping to accidently bump into your man.”

“He’s not my man,” Willa snapped loudly.

“All I’m sayin’ is give him what he wants
before some other woman is all over that good stuff. You keep
playing hard to get and you’ll end up playing all by yourself.”
Jazz raised both arched eyebrows at her. “Tell her, MiMi. You’re
the expert on getting a man.”

“Hmm.” MiMi wore a deep frown of
concentration.

Jazz lightly tapped MiMi on the shoulder as
she walked past where she sat. “Take some wise advice and learn how
to live within the means you got, girl.”

“Not that I care, but Tyretta isn’t Cedric’s
type. But hey, he’s free and grown. It’s none of my business,”
Willa replied. She made it a point not to look at the open door
that led to her office lobby.

“How much you want to bet Tyretta is making
up an excuse to look for the ladies restroom? She’s going to hunt
him down if it’s the last thing she does,” Jazz teased. She
suppressed a chuckle when Willa’s nostrils flared.

“Don’t be so obvious, baby sister. I’m not
going to take the bait.” Willa walked around her desk and sat down.
“So you’re not going after the drug money? We’re clear?”

Jazz grew serious again. “Kyeisha and
Cleavon messed with the wrong pack of pit bulls. Let them rip into
each other. I’m staying out of it.”

MiMi heaved a dramatic sigh. “How sweet. You
two pick now to be on the same page, and we’ll lose close to a
million dollars. I’m sure interest has accrued.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you want all of your
fingers, toes, and both eyes,” Jazz shot back. When MiMi squeaked
at the image, Jazz nodded. “Bye sis.”

“Bye,” Willa replied. She grinned at a
shaken MiMi.

Jazz found Tyretta in the lobby trying to
pump Kay for information on Cedric’s whereabouts. Kay mouthed a
relieved “Thank you” when Jazz collected her persistent buddy and
marched her out the glass exit doors.

“So you’re sure Cedric and Willa are solid?”
Tyretta said the minute they were in the elevator. The doors
swished shut and she hit the button to the first floor.

“Positive. Besides, Cedric would bore you
into a coma. He likes going to art exhibits and classic jazz.”

“Humph, how do you know I’m not into art and
classic jazz?” Tyretta tossed her head making the orange blond
tresses bounce.

“So you’re an Art Tatum fan?” Jazz checked
for texts on her smart phone.

“Who?”

“Yeah,” Jazz retorted and walked ahead of
her when the elevator doors slid open.

“Umph.” Tyretta followed her to Jazz’s car
parked in the lot. “Were you blowin’ smoke in there with your
sister?”

“No way. Bloody body parts are a sign to
leave well enough the hell alone.” Jazz looked at Tyretta.

* * *

Jazz stuck to her word. She knew Filipe, his
crazy gang members, and his even crazier cousins enough to know
when she was well off. They weren’t coming directly to her. She’d
be a fool to go looking for them. The next day, a different kind of
trouble showed up at the front door of Candy Girls. Literally.

Jazz went down to air the place out and get
ready for the lunch crowd. As usual she’d gone in through the back
doors first. She was inside when she heard a noise out front.
Cautious, Jazz went to the double front entrance doors. Two diamond
shaped windows with double-pane shatterproof smoky glass allowed in
muted light. She peered outside. Her heart raced when she saw the
top of a man’s head. He was intent on something. Then moments later
he walked off tapping on a tablet computer. Jazz rushed through the
process of opening four sets of heavy locks. She swung open the
door only to see a car with the city seal pull from the parking lot
and go down the street. Only when she turned did Jazz notice the
thick paper taped to the door. A plastic bag contained another
form. She pulled it out, read one word in red at the top and
shivered. She still sat at the bar staring at the papers two hours
later. First Byron and then Tyretta arrived to find her there. An
ashtray spilled over with cigarette butts. Her fifth cup of coffee
had gotten cold.

“Close the place down,” Byron said. His
words rolling out like the voice of doom. “I got to find another
gig. Damn.”

“Yeah, Byron cause it’s all about you,”
Tyretta snapped. “Jazz put every cent she had into the place. This
is her dream. Freedom from shakin’ her ass to somebody else’s
beat.”

Byron bobbed his large head in appreciation.
“Hey, that’s almost poetic. And I wasn’t meaning to just think
about me, but I got four kids at the house. Ya know?”

“He’s right. This does affect him, and the
rest of you,” Jazz said. She fingered the papers for a second
before pushing them away. Not that getting them out of sight made a
difference.

“You need to get a lawyer. The city can’t
just push us around. We got a legal business. All the right permits
and everything. I got a good mind to go downtown put some of those
SOBs on notice.” Tyretta let loose with a string of curse words
that made even big Byron blink.

“That ain’t gonna do nothin’ but make it
worse. Show em they’re right to call this place a ‘nuisance
property’,” Byron said sternly. “Jazz got enough trouble without
you givin’ them evidence.”

“Just stop all the noise, Tyretta.”

Jazz felt tears pushing at her eyelids. She
hated crying, or the weakness that made her tearful. When she was
five, Jazz realized crying didn’t get her mother’s attention. In
fact, in the wrong situation, crying just invited more
mistreatment. Her childish high pitched squealing further enraged
her unpredictable mother or her latest boyfriend. In her nightmare
journey through the foster care system, Jazz had met truly sadistic
people who enjoyed watching kids suffer. Pleading for help or mercy
only assured the abuse would continue—or get worse. So she not only
shut down, she learned to get even. But right now, she couldn’t
work up the energy to feel angry. All she felt was defeated.

Tyretta sat on the bar stool next to her.
She put a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “Listen girl, you take some time
to rest. Hell, you’ve been working sixteen hour days for months
runnin’ this place. Go up to your place and take a nap. We’ll open
for lunch.”

“But the notice,” Byron protested as he
pointed at the papers.

“Let me see this shit again.” Tyretta
grabbed the papers and read them. “This is a notice that there’s
gonna be a hearing in fifteen working days. She’s got to prepare to
answer charges that Candy Girls, LLC is promoting crime and a
general decay of... Dutton Estates? What the hell is Dutton
Estates?”

“The city is made up of subdivisions that
were named back when neighborhoods were established,” Jazz said in
a monotone. “Back in 1939 some guy name Dutton owned land around
here. It’s on all the papers for this property. Nobody even
remembers that far back.”

“Well, anyway, we’re going to fight. Get a
lawyer,” Tyretta said.

“Hey, she’s got a good point. What about
that guy on television, Marty something? He’s got those commercials
saying, ‘I’ll make them pay!’” Byron said.

“Him? He’s only interested in accidents with
big rigs. Makes his money getting settlements from insurance
companies,” Jazz replied. “I gave him lap dances when I worked at
Gentleman’s Pleasure across town. Good tipper though.”

“Then maybe he’ll take your case since y’all
are friends,” Byron replied.

Jazz looked at him and planted a fist on one
hip. “You must be joking. How you think Mr. Jewish Family Man would
react to his former pole dancer showing up asking for a favor?”

Byron scratched his jaw. “Well, it’s
business so I don’t think...”

“The city is making me an example. Candy
Girls has already been in the newspapers. Some sharp reporter will
dig up my past for sure. Marty will figure out real quick that he
wants nothing to do with me.” Jazz sniffed. She jumped down from
the bar stool and stomped over to grab a paper napkin. As she
dabbed at her eyes, Tyretta made soothing noises while patting her
back.

“So like I said, I got to find another job.”
Byron grunted. “Not that I won’t try to help you, too, Jazz. I got
a friend owns a string of quick stop shops. Maybe he can find
something for all of us.”

“Great. Just what we always dreamed about,”
Tyretta snapped. “Wearing an ugly shirt with a logo on it selling
beef jerky, and hoping we don’t get robbed by some crack head.”

“It ain’t like that,” Byron replied. “My
friend has six nice stores. Well, five now. The cops shut down one
after they found some pipes and illegal bath salts in it.”

“Oh, that sounds even more exciting, Byron.”
Tyretta threw up both hands. “Five bucks says your buddy is next on
the city’s hit list.”

“Larry is a nice guy. He’s married to my
cousin,” Byron said, as if that proved Larry’s goodness.

“Well unless your cousin got elected mayor
last night, that don’t mean diddly-shit,” Tyretta replied and
turned her back to a grumbling Byron. “Look, girl. My friend knows
a lawyer who can advise you. He’s taken on the city before and
won.”

“I appreciate the help, Tyretta, but I don’t
know.” Jazz picked up the cup again. She sipped and grimaced at the
taste of tepid coffee. “I don’t have money to pay a lawyer charging
over a hundred bucks an hour while we sit in court.”

“His first consultation is free. I think it
is anyway. At least let me call and find out. This guy says those
city ordinances are weak as dish water.” Tyretta nodded when Jazz
glanced at her.

“He’s had this type of case before?” Jazz
pushed away the heavy blanket of self-pity that had settled on her
shoulders.

“Yep. Don’t let them push you around. They
want you to just pack up and run for cover. Hell, Lorraine might be
behind this mess.” Tyretta waved her arms in outrage. “She needs to
get over it and quit hatin’ on you.”

Jazz felt the flames of anger come alive in
her gut. Lorraine. Wouldn’t she love to see Candy Girls boarded up
and Jazz back dancing on a pole? “Get me that lawyer’s name.”

* * *

A tall man in a dark gray suit came through
the door of the attorney’s office suite. Jazz watched him walk
through the waiting room, speak to the cute secretary and then
disappear through one of three doors. The nut brown young woman
continued clicking away on the keyboard of her desktop computer.
Her name, Shamekia Thompson, was on a small plaque on her desk. She
flashed a brief professional smile at Jazz.

“Mr. Nelson knows you’re waiting, ma’am. He
just got back from court. He shouldn’t be long.”

“Thanks.”

The phone on Shamekia’s desk rang and she
picked it up. “Law offices of Higgins, Nelson and Wilson, how may I
help you?”

Jazz picked up a magazine from the end
table. She settled down figuring the “few minutes” meant she’d be
hanging out for at least a half hour. Bored looking supermodels
stared back at her from the glossy pages of a fashion magazine.
Jazz flipped through articles on make-up, jewelry, and clothes few
women she knew could afford. She started feeling as bored as the
supermodels when raised voices made her look up. The secretary gave
her a tight smile, but remained at her desk. Two male voices
rumbled behind closed doors. A loud thud made the secretary and
Jazz flinch at the same time. The voices were lower but not by
much. Then silence that stretched on for several minutes seemed
ominous.

“You maybe better check on your boss?” Jazz
offered.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” the young woman said.
Her fidgeting betrayed her attempt to sound unconcerned. When a
door banged open she hunched her shoulders and gasped.

“Don’t count on this being over, Godfrey.
You no good...” The tall man stood in the open office door pointing
as he spoke.

“This is a place of business, Ronald. Show
some self-control,” a calm deep voice flowed, though its owner
didn’t emerge.

“After what you did, you’ve got the balls to
lecture me on proper behavior?” The tall man thundered back. “One
of these days, Godfrey… One of these days...”

The man whirled around and stormed out of
the office. Window glass rattled and both table lamps trembled when
he slammed the heavy front door. Jazz looked around to find the
secretary gone from her desk. All she could see was Shamekia’s
head. The young woman peeped around a corner of wall leading down a
corridor to other offices. A third man appeared. He whispered
something to her. She nodded as he gave her a pat on her arm. Then
he went into the open door and closed it. If more shouting started,
Jazz was prepared to make a run for it herself. Shamekia smoothed
down her blouse in a game attempt to regain some dignity.

“Would you like some coffee or a soft
drink,” she stammered. Her gaze darted to the front door at least
three times.

“Umm, no thanks,” Jazz said and crossed over
to her. “You look like you need a drink worse than me, girl.”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Shamekia replied with a
smile.

“Uh-huh.” Jazz went to a spring water cooler
in the waiting room. She filled a paper cup and gave it to
Shamekia. “Here, you better steady your nerves.”

Shamekia nodded and gulped down the water.
“Thank you.”

“Sure. I guess lawyers get used to
unsatisfied clients, huh?” Jazz took the empty paper cup from
Shamekia. She handed the young woman a napkin. Then she picked up
several papers that had fallen to the floor.