More Money for Good (8 page)

We were in the car and back to square one. No leads, no clues. Tavious seemed very uncomfortable to me and I asked him if he was okay.

He was looking out the window. Didn't even look back at me when he spoke. “I just got out of prison, man. I have the damn police asking questions about me. This is bullshit, West. We need to find out who else was involved with Amara. She had to have someone in her life closer to her than these freakin' fools we've met so far. Just doesn't make sense.”

I couldn't agree with him more. Amara lived alone and from what I could tell had deeper feelings for Tavious than he ever knew and enjoyed sex on some type of abstinence level. I'd always had the philosophy “to each his own” and my intuition was telling me that she was saving herself for Tavious but didn't want to keep her needs unmet to a certain point. I was all out of ideas on which direction we should go to keep Tavious from being harassed by the police or even being charged, because I knew if the police were coming up goose eggs like we were. They were going to make a case against Tavious and do whatever they could to make it stick.

Tavious agreed to have dinner with us at my place. Rita and Rossi called to let us know they were on their way, and when we walked in everyone was in the kitchen, surrounding the island, looking at Rita's laptop.

“Look at this,” Rita said, pointing to the computer screen. “Amara has a Facebook page and someone is online at this very moment.”

Tavious moved in to get a closer look. “Let me see that.”

“Whoever has her account has been online for the past two hours,” Rossi said.

Lauren said, “Either she's online in heaven—or begging for help in hell.”

“This could be our chance to find out what's goin' on,” Tavious said.

“I could try inviting whoever this is to be a friend,” Rita suggested.

“But that might scare them off,” Lauren said.

“We just can't sit here and not do anything, because you never know when they'll be online again.”

There was pause.

“Try to talk to them,” Tavious said.

“What?” Rita said.

“Everyone we have met so far has at least heard of me.” Tavious became excited. “Hurry, say hello to them and tell them it's Tavious. Tavious Bell.”

Rita looked around.

“Go ahead, do it. Whoever that is has my life in their hands.”

Rita maneuvered around everyone and in no time did exactly what Tavious asked.

Hey, Amara. It's Tavious. Tavious Bell.

Then there was a return message: Tavious. Meet me at Screen on the Green. Don't sit. Stand.

Everyone read the message planted across the computer screen, and it was followed by silence, then a jolt of energy. We were back in the game. Tavious was hyped with his aggressiveness to give his name in cyberspace; but slightly deflated after he questioned what the Screen on the Green was and Lauren let him know there were thousands of people at the event at any given time, and a place where someone could see you without you even knowing.

“It's a really big event. People watching a movie out on the lawn, the place is very crowded,” Lauren let Tavious know.

Rossi added, “Public meet and greets always diffuse problems; somebody is playing it safe.”

“You think we are talking to Amara's killer? If we are, we need to play it safe for damn sure,” Tavious promised.

“Can't tell,” Rita said. “But it's obvious whoever this is knows something.”

It was time to go sit down in the family room and get in defensive mode. I knew that whoever it was must be living in Atlanta, and if Tavious did make contact with the person we were going to have to follow them and find out where they lived without them knowing.

It took us a few hours to figure out a plan. Tavious would be alone and I would sit closely by with Lauren on a blanket watching his every move. Rita and Rossi were going to be close on the street in the car and we would call one another every ten minutes on the cell. When Tavious made contact I would call Rossi and Rita so they could follow whoever Tavious met to their home so we would have a definite contact on them.

Thursday couldn't have come quick enough. The plan was to put in a good day's work at the shop, then go over to the Screen on the Green. We didn't know who we were dealing with so we had to be extra careful. The only thing we knew about the person who asked to meet Tavious was that they were using a dead woman's Facebook account. This could have been our break as to who killed Amara and stole the two million. Of course this was one of the times that I was happy that I took the time to go get my permit to carry. The decision was made early on that we were not going to do anything by force. That was not even in the cards. We just wanted to get contact and an address, and find the money before turning the killer over to the police, so that Tavious could stay a free man.

When we arrived we positioned ourselves in the back of the seating arrangements so that Tavious could stand and walk around the setup in the park. The whole night was strange because we were waiting for someone we didn't know, and we didn't know when they would show up. After an hour after the movie started it became dark. When Tavious walked back in our direction he gave me a look of confusion. Rossi and Rita were on the phone as scheduled every ten to fifteen minutes wondering what was happening as well. Lauren knew the movie playing had only thirty or so minutes left. When the movie ended there was no one there to meet Tavious.

We packed it up and went back to my place.

“What the hell was that, man?” Tavious said as I poured him a drink.

“Somebody is messing with you,” Rossi said.

“But who?' Lauren questioned.

“I don't know, but whoever it is just pissed me off,” I told them.

“You?” Tavious said. “I wanted to stop every person who looked at me and ask them their name.”

“Uh-ooooh . . .” we heard Rita sing.

Lauren walked over to her to find out what was going on.

“It's our friend on Facebook again,” Rita told her.

We all gathered around and read the screen.

You look good in red. J Meet me at the Waffle House in Hapeville in thirty minutes.

Rita didn't wait for anyone to tell her what to type this time. She asked the person on the other end who they were, but didn't get an answer. Rossi knew Hapeville all too well. Years ago before I met him, it was the exact spot where he found himself in a heap of trouble working with the police in a drug sting operation. It was getting a bit too late so we asked our ladies to stay behind in case there was trouble. Rita said she would monitor the computer and Lauren would wait by the phone to hear back from me.

 

I had a reason not to like Rossi's German piece-of-shit BMW and I told him so. It wasn't made in America. And it helped put lots of skilled workers in the street. Matter of fact, a Ford plant in Hapeville that we were about to pass had been shut down just years before. But I had to give the Beemer props. That freaking car was a beast on the road and Rossi boasted about it the entire way. We were at our location in fifteen minutes, sitting outside in the parking lot, looking into the Waffle House. Rossi was going to stay behind the wheel of the car, keep it running just in case we would need a quick getaway. I went inside with Tavious with my Black Widow revolver in my pants pocket.

When we walked inside there was no mistaking by the aroma that the grill was hot and at the ready. We tried to leave space between us as we walked in but it was almost impossible. The establishment was very small and we scanned the restaurant as best as we could. There was a couple sitting on the right-hand side next to a window. Both had coffee.

Another couple on the opposite side of them was giving their order to the waitress. A woman was sitting at the counter with her back toward us. And a white man was all the way to the back of the diner with a glass of water sitting in front of him, staring at us. He had a scruffy beard. He was wearing a tan jacket. I noticed his hands were under the table. For some reason he kept his eyes on us. We agreed with our eyes that he was the person we were there to see. I walked behind Tavious with my hand close to my pocket where Ms. Widow sat. When we were just a few steps from the man the woman sitting at the barstool with her back to us turned around and grabbed Tavious by his arm.

“Hey, son,” she said.

Seconds later the entire Waffle House parking lot was filled with police cars. Swirling emergency lights were illuminating and officers vaulted out of their cars. It happened quickly but I noticed a man in blue yank Rossi out of his car as I looked out the large restaurant window. The police were wild and reckless as though they were having a bad-ass night. They stormed inside. In seconds I was in handcuffs along with Tavious. We were headed to the police station. It was so close to the restaurant that they could have walked us there instead of throwing us in the back seats of their cruisers.

We were all taken to different rooms. They took the cuffs off me. Made me sit down in a hot cinderblock room painted in gray. I could faintly hear the officers say Rossi's name before they shut my door. A few seconds later I hear Rossi tell them to all kiss his ass as they walk past my room. I was more pissed than anything because when I told a young officer, after he asked if I had anything in my pockets, that I had a pistol, he pushed my head down on a Waffle House table. He was trying to receive points from fellow officers who kept calling him rookie.

After about thirty minutes of sitting alone in the rank room that someone had relieved themselves in, Williams, the black officer who came into my office with no sense, walked in. He passed by my chair and faced a concrete wall. His boy Gus was close behind.

“What's wrong, your boyfriend, Gus, on his cycle?” I asked him.

He turned around, exhaled, then put his index finger over his lips.

I looked at Gus. “I was right then?”

Williams walked over to the table. He slammed his hand on top of it and told me to shut the fuck up.

I asked him, “
Law & Order
right?”

“Do you mind telling me what the fuck you are doing in Waffle House with a loaded pistol?”

I told him, “Permit to carry, next question.”

“Well, I seem to remember that you and your boy next door got into a little trouble in this part of town a few years ago. And here you are back again; any coincidence as to the reason why?”

I shook my head no.

“Look here, damn it. I am not here to play games with you. I have a murder on my hands. A murder of a woman. Your ex-con hack of a mechanic was very friendly with her. Now, do you care to tell me what the fuck is going on? Why are you and Rossi hanging out with this asshole dope dealer?”

I made sure he was looking me in the eyes before I answered. “We're his big brothers,” I told him. “Now, arrest me for something or I'm walking out.”

Williams exhaled. I took it as he was defeated and I stood on my feet. There was nothing they had on me and they knew it. And I knew my rights and wanted to get out that room reeking of piss and alcohol mix because it was beginning to make me sick.

“Who has my heat?” I wanted to know.

Williams pointed toward the outside and I left the room, keeping an eye on Gus. I had to walk down a hallway to get to the front desk. When I got there a woman police officer was sitting behind a bulletproof window. She was wearing glasses and reading
O Magazine.
I gave her my name and asked for my weapon back. She asked me to produce my ID. I told her I couldn't because that was taken from me, too. The officer was forced to get off her ass because no one would answer her on the radio to return my belongings. I turned around when the door from the outside
of the
police station was opened. It was the woman who called Tavious “son.”

She looked at me when she stepped inside. I quickly scanned her without saying a word to see if she had any resemblance to Tavious. Early forties, brown skin, short haircut, five six with light brown eyes. A purse was draped over her shoulder.

“He looks like his father,” she said.

“Hi, I'm West,” I let her know. “Friend of Tavious's.”

“Joyce. I'm Joyce Bullock. I'm Tavious's mother.”

I kind of smile at her and remember vaguely Tavious telling me he hadn't heard nor seen his mother in over twenty years. For no other reason I thought about him wondering how it felt to see her for that brief moment before he was arrested.

“Is he still in there? Why'd they take him?”

“I don't know,” I told her.

We both look down the hall when we hear yelling.

“Fuck you!”

It was Rossi and his voice was getting closer and closer to us.

“And there better not be a scratch on my got-damn car, you sons of bitches. You can't just snatch someone out the car for no damn reason. Got-damn assholes!”

Now standing next to me, Rossi smoothed out his clothes. He tried his best to regain his composure.

“Okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he said. He straightened out his shirt some more. “They are about to bring it out of me, man. Let's get out of here,” he said.

“Can't, waiting on my belongings,” I told him.

Rossi nodded at Joyce as she stood behind us, then turned back around.

“She's Tavious's mother,” I told him.

Rossi looked back at her and acknowledged her again. “West, what's going on, man? Where is he anyway?”

Joyce was getting impatient. “They think he killed Amara don't they?” she said.

I looked around to make sure no one heard her. Rossi opened the entrance door to the police station and I put my arm around Joyce. We walked her out into the parking lot.

“Look, I don't think you should be talking about that right now,” I let her know.

“I'm going to go get my car and come back and wait for you,” Rossi let us know.

I asked Joyce if she would walk with Rossi to pick up his car because it wasn't safe talking in front of the police station. She agreed. When I got back into the police station it took the lady officer another thirty minutes before she came out with my things. I was sure they were trying to mess with me, seeing as I was the only person waiting in the lobby.

Finally, she brought them out. As soon as I finished making sure everything was in my wallet, and my pistol was, in fact, mine with no missing rounds, I met up with Rossi and Joyce, who were out in the car.