Red Light Special (8 page)

She knew he was studying her lips as she spoke, “You go first.”

“I was thinking,” he paused, “if I wanted to kiss you…or make love to you. But I can’t make up my mind.”

Monday nervously swallowed as she stepped out of his embrace. “Listen,” she said, “I need to go. I have someplace I need to be.”

“All right.” He smiled. “Here,” he reached in his back pocket and pulled out a card. “Use it.” He boldly took the card, reached behind her and slid it in the rear pocket of her skirt.

As he turned to leave he winked and Monday watched him get in his car. His business card felt like a seductive chill as she slid into her Mercedes and pulled off.

“Collyn Bazemore, please,” a tall, lean black man wearing a pair of blue Dockers and a white polo shirt said to Taryn. He took one of the gallery’s business cards and placed it in his beige trench coat pocket while his partner browsed, looking at the art and raising his eyebrows at the prices.

“Do you have an appointment?” Taryn asked, knowing that he didn’t.

“No,” the man answered, “but I’m sure she’ll see me.”

“And you are?”

“Agent West.” He flashed his silver badge. “FBI, Missing Persons.”

Taryn blinked. “One moment, please.”

“Thank you.”

“Pierre,” Taryn called to the art assistant who was helping a customer on the floor. He turned to look at her. “I have to run in the back for a moment.” Taryn hustled to Collyn’s office. She knocked and entered immediately. “Excuse me, but there are two men here to see you.”

Collyn looked surprised, “Taryn,” she said politely but sternly, pointing to one of her clients, “you can see I’m already with someone.”

“Collyn, you don’t understand.” Taryn shook her head. “I really think you should take this meeting.”

Collyn looked at her client, who was sitting in her chocolate leather wing chair. “Just a moment, please.” She stepped out into the hallway, “Taryn, this is nothing like you. What is the problem?”

“There are two FBI agents here to see you. Missing Persons Squad.”

Collyn’s heart dropped. It was obvious that Kenyatta had followed through on his threat and sold the feds some bullshit.

“It’s fine,” Collyn said, maintaining her composure. “Show them to the clients’ lounge and have Pierre serve them Moët.”

Collyn walked back into her office. “Mr. Borne, it’s been my pleasure. Your fantasy has been arranged. Janelle will meet you at the hotel in D.C. tomorrow by three.”

“Thank you.” He smiled.

“Anytime.” She walked him to the back door; his limo pulled around, and he left. Afterward Collyn sauntered into the lounge, her rust-colored wrap dress blending in with the early autumn leaves sweeping the ground as she stood directly in front of the wall of windows. “Gentlemen.” She held out her hand, her onyx and white-diamond tennis bracelet shimmering in the sunlight.

Both agents accepted her gesture, greeting her with lustful looks and smiles.

“What can I do for you?” She poured herself a glass of Moët and sipped.

“You have a beautiful place here,” Agent West commented.

Collyn smiled. “I don’t do small talk.” She tried to remain calm, not wanting them to know they’d caught her off guard.

“Ms. Bazemore, I’m Agent West and this is Agent Jones. We need to ask you some questions.”

“I’m listening.”

“Do you know Eve Johnson?” Agent West pulled a photograph of the woman from his pocket and handed it to Collyn.

Collyn pushed back her shoulder-length curls as she looked at the picture. “Not off the top of my head.” She handed the photo back to the agent.

“Look at it carefully.” He shoved it back toward her face. “Because I believe you do.”

“Her cell phone records indicate that she spoke to you daily,” Agent Jones put in.

“Spoke to me?” Collyn smirked as she sipped her drink, her lipstick making an imprint on the glass. “Really?”

“Also,” Agent Jones continued, “there were a stack of receipts found in her apartment from your gallery, totaling well into the tens of thousands of dollars.”

“And I’m certain you would remember,” Agent West added, “someone who purchased such large quantities of art from you.”

“Agents,” Collyn said with ease, “surely you didn’t come here to describe a lover of art to me? People buy art from me all over the world. As a matter of fact, people commission me to find them one-of-a-kind pieces. So do you think I should remember someone specifically named Eve Johnson? Do you know how many Johnsons there are?”

“But this one called here daily,” Agent West snapped.

“And so do a lot of other people,” Collyn responded.

Agent Jones grimaced and waved the picture in her face. “She disappeared a little over two months ago.”

“Then why aren’t you looking for her?”

“We are.”

“Not in here you aren’t.”

“We think you know her,” Agent West stated again.

Sensing that they had no real evidence, Collyn looked at him as if he were silly.

“Listen.” Agent West pulled up a chair. “Why don’t you just tell us what happened? Perhaps if you tell us the truth, then we can talk to the prosecutor and see about cutting you a deal.”

Collyn forced herself not to flip. “Cut me a deal?” She all but laughed in his face. “Are you charging me with something?”

“Listen—”

“I’m not listening to shit anymore,” she said.

“Okay, you wanna play that game?” Agent Jones growled. “How about this: I have five people who say you know exactly who Eve Johnson is. Those same people also said you argued with her over money and that the next day, the very next day after your argument, she was missing. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Now, why don’t you tell us what really happened?”

Collyn clapped her hands. “Agents, it sounds to me like you have a beautiful case sewn up, especially with five people who all seem to know exactly what happened. So I don’t see what you need my statement for. Charge me with whatever they said I did and get the shit over with.”

When they didn’t respond, she continued, “That’s what I thought. Now, let me explain something to you. This is an art gallery, and unless you came to purchase some of my pieces, get out and don’t come back, do you understand?”

The agents glared at her. They had no charges and the theory they presented was bogus, so they couldn’t go anywhere with that. All they had was a daily log of cell phone calls and a ton of receipts for art. “Funny thing is,” Agent West said, “there were a lot of receipts for art, but we didn’t find any art in Eve’s apartment.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Bazemore,” Agent Jones said as they nodded and left.

Collyn simmered as she watched them get into their gray Crown Victoria and leave. Once they’d disappeared down the busy street, Collyn turned to Taryn. “I’ll be back. I gotta motherfucker I need to see.”

Twenty minutes later, after ducking and dodging through traffic, Collyn was at City Hall. She went through the metal detector, signed in, and caught the elevator to the floor where the mayor’s office was. Collyn didn’t wait for Kenyatta’s secretary to call him on the intercom, instead she stormed passed her, flung the door wide open, and slammed it behind her.

There were scrambling noises as she walked in and sat down in the burgundy Queen Anne chair facing him. She crossed her thick thighs and her purse made a loud thud as she threw it onto Kenyatta’s desk. “Okay, motherfucker.” Collyn tapped the pencil heel of her stiletto on the eagle’s face woven into the blue carpet. “What the fuck was sending the feds to my office about?”

Kenyatta cleared his throat. It was obvious that he had been caught off guard. Collyn was the last person he expected to see, especially since he was in the midst of taking care of some personal business. “What are you doing here? I didn’t send any feds to your office. And I’m busy.” He waved security away as they rushed into his doorway.

Collyn stood up and leaned over his heavy mahogany desk. A pair of brown kitten heels protruded from under the desk on her side. “Do you think I give a fuck about that bitch suckin’ yo’ li’l-ass dick under your desk? Do you think I give a good goddamn?” She kicked the woman’s shoes. There was a thump under the desk.

“Pathetic…” She shook her head. “Consider this a promise: if you gon’ fuck with me, then you better come wit’ it, because I’m not playing games with you. Let another goddamn cop, agent, who-the-fuck-ever come to my place of business, get in my face again, and see if I don’t regulate everybody up in this motherfucker. Won’t nobody in this bitch have a political career!”

“Wait a minute now—”

“I don’t have another minute to wait for your ass. So my suggestion to you”—she pursed her lips—“is to take heed to what the fuck I just said. Be clear, I am not the one you need to fuck with.” She grabbed her purse and stormed out of his office, brushing the security guard, who was standing outside of the doorway, on the shoulder.

By the time she arrived back at the gallery, she exceeded furious. “Where is Taryn?” she snapped at Pierre.

“She had to leave for a moment. The sitter called and said the baby was sick. But Collyn,” he said as if he were in a hurry, “the mayor’s—”

Before he could finish, Monday stood up. “I got a problem with you, and you will speak to me right now!”

Collyn took a step back. She hadn’t seen Monday in years, and looking in her face today, the reunion was too soon. She looked Monday over, noticed that not much had changed, and said slowly, “What…the…fuck…do you want?” Suddenly the entire gallery became quiet and all the customers froze in their spots.

Finally remembering where she was, Collyn smiled and said to Monday, “Follow me please.”

Their heels clicked in an angry rhythm as they stormed toward Collyn’s office.

Once they reached the office Collyn slammed the door, then turned on the TV to drown out the argument that was about to ensue.

“How fuckin’ dare you service my husband!” Monday screamed. I moved away from you, but I swear to God, everywhere I go, there you are. I’ve been through enough shit in my last life and I don’t need you reincarnating the same goddamn drama in this one!”

“What—” Collyn scrunched up her face and looked at Monday as if she had two heads, “Excuse me?”

“I’m not finished,” Monday said, enraged. “All this time I’ve been thinking that I was dealing with an average everyday bitch and it’s one of your hoes! Make no mistake, if you send Tracy or whatever other bitch again—”

“Tracy?” Collyn said, put off. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” Monday balled her fist and slammed it on Collyn’s desk, rattling the phone and the penholder, causing the holder to topple over and fall to the floor. “Don’t even attempt to lie, because I found the dummy receipts from your gallery in his e-mail. You must think my life is a game that I’m playin’. Leave my fuckin’ husband alone!”

“Your goddamn husband—”

“Is none of your concern.”

“It is when it’s affecting my business.”

“If you didn’t have some bottom bitch named Tracy fucking him—”

“Who the hell is Tracy?” Collyn screamed. “Kenyatta’s bottom bitch was named Eve,” she spat coldly.

“Eve?” Monday said, filled with air.

Monday took a step back and Collyn spat, “Don’t you ever bring yo’ ass up in here like this again! Perhaps I need to remind you of just who the fuck I am.” Collyn got in Monday’s face, squinted her eyes, and said in a sinister whisper, “I am your pimp, bitch.” She pointed into Monday’s face. “Once a ho always a ho. You met that niggah because of me and my dough. You were on my payroll—or did you actually start to believe that made-up bullshit you tell the press? Did you forget that sucking dick paid your way through law school?”

Silence.

“Oh yeah, baby, it’s me, superbitch. I’m Godmama,” Collyn pointed to her chest, “and don’t you ever in your life forget that shit!”

“I didn’t forget! But I chose a different life.”

“Well, you didn’t run far enough!”

“I don’t want to keep being haunted by this shit! That’s why I came to New York. That’s why I worked so hard for my life to be different. I have no one, except my husband, and I never expected to see you again. I thought that part of my life was over when I left Atlanta, only for me to wake up one morning and find you here.”

“What? What the hell, are you, nuts? I was born and raised in New York, I don’t have to run from you, that’s your m.o.”

“Then why are you in my fuckin’ life again?”

“You came to see me. I didn’t seek you out!”

“What did you expect? You’re servicing my husband with some bitch named Tracy, and here I am trying to be a good wife. And I worked too hard to have to contend with this bullshit.”

Collyn looked at Monday, taken aback, “Geneva Thompson, just ’cause you changed your name to Monday Clark, doesn’t mean you changed who you are. Underneath all that political husband and wife bullshit is a ho and a trick. And if you think it’s any different, then you need to look again.

“Now I don’t know who the fuck Tracy is, but she ain’t here, the last time that motherfucker bought some pussy from me, it was from Eve.”

“Are you—”

“I’m not finished! Now you need to be clear, that niggah doesn’t give a damn about anything other than himself, and the quicker you get with the program the better off you will be.”

Suddenly Monday felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked around Collyn’s office in despair.

Geneva had been poor. From the outskirts of Atlanta, she’d been on her own since she was seventeen. She never knew her real mother, who’d been too busy chasing the demons of possessed dick to be bothered with raising a child. So her father raised her, at least until he remarried and announced to her at seventeen that she was grown and needed to make it on her own. And outside of a city welfare grant and a scholarship, all she had left were her dreams.