Devilish Details (29 page)

Phillips tapped the pen on the tablet. “So
he could have some connection to Filipe Perez.”

“We’re checking right now,” Willa put in
before Jazz could reply.

“Give me everything you find. We need to
build at least one credible alternative theory. Fortunately with
Bennett’s and Ms. Lather’s histories, we’ve got something to work
with.”

“Cedric, my chief of operations, will be in
touch soon,” Willa replied. She looked at Jazz. “I never thought
having shady friends would be an asset one day.”

“See? All those lectures for nothin’,” Jazz
shot back.

“Now to another subject. Godfrey Higgins
called me last night. Is firing him relate to your case?” Phillips
raised an eyebrow at Jazz.

“Not unless your buddy wants you to either
ditch me or throw me to the dogs.” Jazz stared at him steadily.

“Godfrey Higgins and I aren’t ‘buddies’.
We’ve networked at local social functions. He’s referred several
cases to me over the past four years or so.”

Jazz’s eyes narrowed. “What did he want
then?”

“He wanted me to talk you into reconsidering
terminating his services. I told him that was not my concern. Your
business with him will not affect how I represent you. I handle my
cases as I see fit, for the good of my clients,” Phillips said
firmly.

Jazz exchanged a brief glance with her
sister. She nodded. “Okay, let’s keep goin’ then.”

They discussed details about possible
defense strategies and a trial date. Thirty minutes later, Jazz and
Willa were driving away. The Bluetooth connection in Willa’s SUV
buzzed. The caller ID on the dashboard flashed Cedric’s name. She
hit the button to talk hands free.

“Hi, babe. What’s up?” Willa said.

“I’ve found some interesting information.
Meet me at the office,” Cedric replied.

“I’ll be there in about forty minutes or so.
I have to drop Jazz off first,” Willa said.

“Okay, bye.” His name vanished when Cedric
ended the call.

“No, you’ll be there a lot sooner. I’m not
getting out of this car. Save yourself time and aggravation. Keep
driving.” Jazz pressed against the leather seat to emphasize her
determination.

“If somebody hadn’t already done it, I’d
beat your behind right now,” Willa mumbled. She drove south to her
office instead of to north Baton Rouge where Jazz lived.

* * *

Jazz wondered if they’d get a ticket or at
least be pulled over. Willa drove through yellow traffic signals
and exceeded the speed limit. She’d honked at least four times at
silly drivers observing traffic laws. Jazz glanced at her, but said
nothing. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at Willa’s building.
They went straight to the conference room of her office suite.
Cedric was already there with a mug of coffee and his android
tablet. Ten minutes into his summary, Willa blinked hard at
him.

“Let me get this straight, Lorraine’s son in
Angola has ties to Filipe?”

“At some point, most of the local thugs did
business with Filipe,” Cedric said with a shrug. “So it’s logical
to conclude they knew each other.”

“Filipe hung out at Candy Girls. It’s where
we met, remember,” Jazz said. She drummed her tapered fingernails
on the table’s smooth wooden surface.

“Yeah, but all kinds of gangsters and crooks
hung out there. I still don’t get the connection.” Willa frowned in
concentration.

“Cleavon grew up with Lorraine’s kids. He
even use to date her daughter,” Cedric said.

“Even I didn’t know that much. Of course,
I’ve been too busy staying alive to investigate,” Jazz joked. “Good
work.”

“Hey, it’s what I do. Your friend the
bartender at Grown Folks gave me the best lead. I talked to this
girl who was friends with Lorraine’s daughter in high school. Next
best thing since I couldn’t find the daughter,” Cedric said with a
frown. “Netta lost track of her.”

“She went to nursing school in Houston.
Never came back. She married a fellow student and they moved to San
Antonio,” Jazz said. “Lorraine and her youngest son used to talk
trash about her. Said she got educated and uppity.”

“Or maybe she wanted a different kind of
life,” Willa replied.

“I used to agree with her. I thought it was
terrible she just dumped her family that way.” Jazz shrugged when
Willa glanced at her. “What?”

“Sometimes you have to cut ties to save your
own life, Jazz.” Willa looked at her hard.

Jazz knew Willa wasn’t talking about
Lorraine or her daughter. They’d had this argument about their own
mother. Jazz clung to her despite all Vivienne had put them
through. “Hell, she could at least call on holidays.”

“Yeah, and when you keep in touch, they want
something. But do they ever show any kind of concern for you? No.
It’s all about them, what they need or want.” Willa balled both
hands into fists.

Cedric reached over to cover them with one
of his large hands. “Have some coffee.”

“Right. This isn’t about my mama issues,”
Willa said softly.

“So this friend remembers Cleavon and
Lorraine’s sons were buddies,” Jazz put in to take them back to the
subject.

“They were kids in the old neighborhood
together. Zion City is still a rough place,” Cedric continued. “As
teenagers they got in trouble together. This friend didn’t know
much else. She went to community college and got out like
Lorraine’s daughter.”

“Cleavon hung around the club. Lorraine used
to let her boys drink before they were legal. Yeah, model parent,”
Jazz said when Willa grimaced. They all fell silent. “Okay, try on
this theory. Baton Rouge has these neighborhood gangs,
disorganized. Then Filipe comes to town.”

“Filipe is from California by way of Mexico,
right? He knows about running a gang with structure. He’s the man
with the plan. But he’s always smart. He doesn’t go to war with the
locals. He shows them how to make more money.” Cedric nodded.
“Naturally there’s still some resentment that simmers.”

“Filipe goes to prison. Lorraine’s oldest
two end up in prison, the youngest dead. Cleavon decides he can
make his move to become the next kingpin?” Jazz barked scornful
laugher. “He doesn’t have the brains. But then, neither did
Lorraine’s sons. Or I read them wrong.”

“They could have had more power in Filipe’s
hierarchy than you realized. Think back. Did Filipe have many
meetings at Candy Girls?” Cedric asked.

“Nah, it was mostly pleasure not business.”
Jazz winked at them.

“No details. Please,” Willa said and rolled
her eyes.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Jazz wisecracked.
Then she grew serious. “Filipe’s closest boys were Latino, two of
his cousins. Their meetings weren’t at Candy Girls. He may have let
one of Lorraine’s boys think they were important. That sounds like
Filipe. He’s always ten steps ahead of anyone else.”

“Lorraine’s sons figure out they’re small
fry in the big picture?” Cedric rubbed his chin in thought.

“Here’s another question.” Willa sat
forward, both elbows on the table. “Is it a coincidence that one
son wound up dead and the other in prison?”

“You mean they might have started showing
signs of taking on Filipe. Is it a coincidence Filipe ended up in
prison?” Jazz looked from Willa to Cedric.

“Damn, that’s going deep.” Cedric fell back
in his chair.

Willa glanced over her shoulder even though
the door was closed. “But you nudged him into that position, right?
I mean when we were trying to figure out who killed Jack a couple
of years ago.”

“All I did was place some nuggets out there
for Don and Miller to follow-up on. I told them enough to get him
picked up. I figured two days tops he’d be in. He always carried a
gun,” Jazz said.

“He’s a felon in possession of a weapon,”
Cedric put in.

“But then some dude rolled on him. The
police got onto one or two of his business ventures.” Jazz looked
at them. “I told Miller the truth when he questioned me. I never
knew or wanted to know details of Filipe’s operation.”

“You’re saying Cleavon or maybe Lorraine’s
sons seized an opportunity? That might explain some things,” Cedric
said.

“But one son is dead. The other one is
locked up for a long time. Why do any of them care about Jazz?”
Willa frowned.

“A criminal enterprise is like any business.
If Cleavon wants to take over, he could use assets to establish his
own operation. Most street crooks are small time, but he has bigger
ambitions. And that’s where you come in,” Cedric said to Jazz.

“Cleavon thinks I know where Filipe has a
stash of valuables. What a dumbass,” Jazz retorted. She massaged
the back of her neck. “I’m getting a damn headache thinking about
these muthas.”

“I told you to let me take you home. Okay,
enough theories for one day.” Willa stood. She raised a palm when
Jazz opened her mouth. “Yes, I’ll take you to your place. I got the
message that you can’t stand being around us for too long.”

Jazz stood slowly.“The guilt trip won’t
work, so stuff it.”Not that her sister listened. The price of a
free ride courtesy was another lecture. Jazz didn’t get pissed off
though. She recognized the nervous energy beneath her sister’s
nagging. When Willa pulled up the short driveway leading to Jazz’s
apartment, she sighed.

“Try not to get punched, shot at, or accused
of another murder until I see you again,” Willa said.

“You never let me have any fun, mom.” Jazz
stuck her lip out in an exaggerated pout. She laughed when hissed a
cuss word. “Hey, I’m gonna be okay. Byron will take over smothering
me the minute you drive off.”

“I already talked to him,” Willa replied
with a satisfied sniff.

As though he’d heard his name, Byron came
out to the car. He and Tyretta helped Jazz climb the stairs to her
apartment. Her fridge had food. A comfy fluffy robe and slippers
were waiting for her.

“You guys are the best,” Jazz said with a
satisfied yawn. She went to her bedroom, changed and lay on the
sofa.

“Me and Rochelle got some of your favorites.
Nothing heavy,” Byron said when Jazz started to speak. “Chyna
whipped up some Chinese dishes. Rochelle made a big meatloaf. What
you don’t eat I will. Now all you gotta do is watch the movies I
got set up for you. Lots of action adventure stuff you’re gonna
enjoy.”

“Deal.” Jazz rested her head. “Y’all don’t
have to hover. Go on back downstairs to the club. I’m good.”

“Yeah. So what happened? I bet the cops
picked up Lorraine. Those must have been her thugs.” Tyretta
chattered at high speed with more questions. She helped herself to
a bowl of nuts. When she reached for the glass of iced tea Byron
had set on the table, he scowled at her.

“What’s wrong with you?” Byron rumbled.

“The salt in these cashews made me thirsty.”
Tyretta hissed at him through her teeth.

“You can have it. I’ll get another,” Jazz
replied. She got up and went to the kitchen. She found a bottle of
spring water. “Y’all sure taking care of me.”

Jazz turned around. Byron stood looking at
Tyretta. He wore a deceptively blank expression on his face.
Tyretta continued a steady stream of commentary. Jazz honed reading
people. Decoding body language had become a survival tool. At that
moment, Byron radiated dislike for Tyretta.

“Go down and help out Rochelle, Tyretta,”
Jazz said.

“She doin’ fine. Chyna is helping her.”
Tyretta stuffed another handful of cashews in her mouth.

Byron kept his tone casual as he turned
away. He pressed buttons on Jazz’s remote. “We got our usual good
Thursday crowd again. The city closed down The Sweet Spot. Guess
that’s why. Anyway, she could use the help.”

“I’m on a break. Got to catch up with my
girl,” Tyretta said, still chewing. “You’re the big time second in
command. You go help.”

“You started breaking almost an hour ago.
Sitting at the bar on your cell phone,” Byron tossed over his
shoulder.

“S'cuse me, she’s my pal from way, way back.
You been around for nothin’ but a minute. Hell, I should be the
assistant manager any damn way,” Tyretta mumbled, but not so Jazz
didn’t hear her. When Jazz came around the sofa again, Tyretta had
a friendly smile plastered on her face.

“He’s right, Tyretta. Happy customers come
back and spend more money. We sure as hell need the business,” Jazz
said mildly. She gave Tyretta a friendly tap on the shoulder.
“We’ll talk later. Promise.”

“Okay, I’m leaving cause
you
asked
me.” Tyretta tossed a glare at Byron. When he seemed not to notice,
she left in a huff.

Byron put the remote on the sofa. “I got you
lined up with some good on-demand stuff for the next four hours.
But the TV will be watching you. Bet you’re worn out.”

Jazz settled against the sofa cushions. She
pulled a soft throw around her but didn’t touch the remote.
“Thanks. You wanna tell me what’s up with you and Tyretta?”

“You know how she’s always mouthin’ off.
Plus she’s always lookin’ to get outta work,” Byron replied with a
frown on his dark brown face.

“I know she can be a pain, but Tyretta stuck
by me. She’s one of the few that did after I got Candy Girls.” Jazz
eyed him. “Well?”

“I mean she’s your good friend and all.”
Byron cleared his throat.

“Byron, I’m not gonna jump you for talkin’
real about Tyretta. Like you said, I’ve known her a long time. I
know what she can be like.” Jazz grinned at him. “Tell it all.”

“I don’t know.” Byron rubbed his jaw. “Now
don’t get mad. It’s more than her mouth.”

Jazz’s gut instinct kicked in. She put down
the bottle of spring water and sat at attention. “Meaning
what?”

“A couple of times she left the back door
open. She had volunteered to lock up, right? She played it off, but
her excuse didn’t sound real. One of those times is when somebody
tried to break in. Maybe the other time, too. I don’t remember
because I wasn’t thinkin’ about it then.”