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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Sleep Don't Come Easy
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Robocop
“L
ook, I'm not trying to be a nuisance, but it's been more than a week, Detective Baldwin,” Fatema sat at his desk in the precinct, challenging him. She'd told him she was a reporter for the
Denver News
, and he had reluctantly agreed to talk to her. “Are there any leads?”
The man looked exhausted and overworked, and impatient. Baldwin was a tall, thick, solid man. He had dark circles underneath his dark eyes, and wore his hair cut close to take the emphasis off his receding hairline. He'd been the lead detective on some of the city's most prominent cases, and Fatema could tell, detective work was definitely taking its toll on the older man. “We have a few, Miss Morris. And I assure you, we're following up on each and every one.” He forced a condescending smile.
She hated interviewing cops. They went out of their way to be vague and politically correct with their answers, talking circles around the facts. “I don't meant to insult you fine folks here at the station.” Fatema pulled one of Toni's file folders from her messenger bag and laid it down on his desk in front of him. “I'm sure you've seen all of this before. Do you think it has any bearing on who could've done this?”
He searched through the files, then stared strangely at Fatema. “Where did you get these?”
“From Toni's apartment,” she answered immediately.
He leaned back and studied her. “What were you doing in Miss Robbins's apartment, Miss Morris?”
Fatema shifted in her seat. “Her family asked me to go there, and to help pack up some of her things.”
“I see. And why would they do that?”
She cleared her throat. “She was my best friend.”
He closed the folder then handed it back to her. “This
interview
is over Miss Morris.”
“Aw, c'mon, Baldwin,” she almost whined, “just tell me if this stuff has anything to do with why Toni might've died. Was she on to something? Could it have been a lover? I know she was seeing someone. And who's this Nelson Monroe cat? Who's Luke1963? I know you know.”
He sat quietly for a moment, then finally responded. “You came to me under the guise of a reporter, not a best friend,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “I don't appreciate the deception, Miss Morris.”
Fatema sat there while the man quietly admonished her.
“But I'll tell you what I have told the family. We are following all leads, including the ones we found among Miss Robbins's personal belongings. Solving Toni Robbins' murder is my number one priority and I assure you I won't rest until I've found her killer.”
Fatema shrank a bit in her seat and rolled her eyes at the overly-rehearsed rhetoric rolling off his lips.
“Now, please take your papers and go. I have work to do.”
Fatema's eyes teared up, and she felt like a child. All of her objectivity was gone. Toni wasn't a stranger, and that fact sorely affected her judgment and professionalism. If she'd been a stranger, Fatema would've dug in and taken the hard line with this man. She'd have challenged him, and put what he knew to the test. But Robocop here was all she and Toni's family had at the moment. And she felt weak and sorry for letting her friend down again.
“She was like my sister,” she said quietly, wringing her hands together in her lap. “And I need to know what happened to her. I need to know who did this.”
“Yes, ma'am. We all need to know.”
“I read her e-mails.” She sniffed and dried her face with the back of her hand. “She was seeing someone, and I think she'd broken up with someone else.”
He leaned back confidently in his seat, as if he already knew this. “Do you know either of these men?”
She shook her head. “Toni and I hadn't spoken in months,” she admitted shamefully. “Do you know them?”
His demeanor seemed to become less defensive, and he managed a real smile this time. “We know the man she was seeing, yes.”
“What about the other one? The one she broke up with?” she asked too anxiously.
All expression washed from his face. “We're working on it.”
He was lying. He knew who the man was, but for whatever reason, he didn't want her to know.
“So, what about all this human trafficking stuff? Modern day slavery?”
He nodded. “Alive and well, unfortunately.”
“Even here in the United States? I always thought that was third world shit.”
“The U.S. has a huge market for the business. But most people think like you. That it's happening somewhere else, and oh, it's a terrible thing for that poor ignorant country on the other side of the world. I suppose we choose to turn a blind eye to it because it's human nature at its worst. And that's awfully hard to look at.”
“Toni was always down for a cause. Do you think she was actually on to something?” The reporter in her crept out just a bit.
“Maybe,” was all he'd say.
“You won't tell me because I'm a reporter, huh?”
He leaned forward and stared sincerely into her eyes. “I won't tell you because you've just lost your best friend to a terrible crime, and if I can't tell you something concrete, something that can give you a small sense of peace and solace, then I'd rather wait until I know for sure that I can.”
She sighed, then gathered her things to leave. “Thanks, Robocop. I'll let you get back to work.”
Nice man. He was a fucking dick though when it came to answering questions, and she was no closer to any answers than she was when she first walked into that police station.
 
He watched her leave. Ten years and twenty pounds ago, he'd have definitely made a move on that one, but a woman like that was entirely too much woman for him these days. Baldwin had a swollen prostate, high blood pressure, and absolutely no fight left in him, and his idea of a good time was sitting at home on a Friday night, watching old reruns of
Law & Order
, eating cold pizza and drinking warm beer. Baldwin admired Miss Morris's behind, and smiled warmly as she left. She was a good-looking woman, smart, and a damn reporter. He'd managed to hold the best friend in her at bay, but something told him that the reporter in her wouldn't rest until she managed to identify those puzzle pieces she carried with her in that folder. Nelson Monroe would no doubt end up getting a visit from Fatema Morris as soon as she figured out who he was, which wouldn't be hard. Mayor Shaw, on the other hand, would be harder to identify. He and Miss Robbins had done a damn good job of keeping his identity hidden, but thanks to that creepy guy in IT, they found out about him almost immediately. He'd have done better to send smoke signals if he wanted to keep this woman a secret.
Was there a connection between the human trafficking issue and this woman's death? It was possible, but he knew, like every other police officer on the force knew, that finding and proving that shit was damn near impossible. The perpetrators weren't so obvious as gang members, wearing something as apparent as colors to give themselves away. And the victims were often too broken and afraid to admit they had been forced to do something against their will. Hell, half the prostitutes they arrested were probably victims, but they'd never admit it. It was a nasty business. One that left you feeling dirty just thinking about it, and Toni Robbins had been so obsessed with it, he wondered how she could've even slept at night.
True Love
L
isa Shaw was a beautiful and elegant woman. Lucas struck gold when he met her. Lisa was a product of the black elite, coming from old money, and a genealogy filled with doctors, professors, a lawyer thrown in every now and then for good measure. They met at Howard University and developed a made-for-television love story that seemed too good to be true from the start. Lucas came from a working class family from Texas, who ultimately migrated to Denver. He'd worked hard to make something of himself, graduating at the top of his class, ending up at Howard majoring in law.
Tall, statuesque, with a honey-brown complexion, Lisa was his dream walking on long, lovely legs. She was refined, soft spoken, classy. He never understood what she saw in him. When she took him home to meet her family, it was obvious that they'd had higher expectations for their daughter. But she was in love, and he was a good man, and eventually, they stepped aside and made way for the inevitable nuptials.
Lucas had proven himself more than worthy to his in-laws through the years, despite his insisting that he and Lisa move back to Denver. He'd passed the bar exam the very first time, become a junior partner at one of the city's top law firms a year out of law school, and gone on to start his own firm, which quickly became one of the elite firms in the country. When he ran for mayor last year, he won by a landslide over his opponents and the city embraced him like its long-lost native son. Lisa's family was even more proud of him than his own.
Dinner parties were her specialty. Lisa had been planning this Christmas party since the beginning of the year, and nothing was going to stop it from happening. She floated through the crowd wearing an emerald green velvet gown, looking like someone had written her in a novel. Diamonds sparkled on her earlobes and around her wrist and ring finger. Luscious lips parted and smiled, welcoming everyone into their home. Lucas could hardly keep his eyes off her.
Cherry Hills was Denver's priciest neighborhood, and she'd insisted on buying a house there from the moment she set foot in Colorado, nearly fifteen years ago. Lisa was used to the best, and he turned flips to make sure she never had to settle. An Italian Tuscan villa replica, a fifteen-thousand-square-foot home, with imported marble and African mahogany woodwork, a wine cellar and theater room, was all it took to put a smile on her face and keep it there. And a damn pool. A fucking swimming pool that no one ever used because what the hell was the point to having a pool in Denver, Colorado?
“The kids would love it,” she'd exclaimed when she saw this place.
The kids used it a couple of times, but not nearly enough to justify the expense of maintaining that sonofabitch.
“You have a beautiful home, Lucas,” Don said coming over to him. The man was a martini shy of being drunk off his ass, and Lucas right along with him.
“Thanks, Don. I take it your lovely wife is enjoying herself?”
“One can only hope,” he said, sarcastically. “Lisa is certainly the belle of the ball tonight.”
“Yeah, well . . . it's what she does best.”
The two men looked at each other, then raised their glasses to each other in a toast of unspoken solidarity.
 
She was the only woman he knew who could make love without messing up her hair. Lucas came, rolled off his wife, and sighed. Lisa played her role, crawled out of bed, took a long, hot shower, put on a fresh nightgown, and climbed back into bed next to him, grazing his cheek with a kiss, then turning over on her stomach to sleep. Moments later, Lisa's slow steady breathing let him know that she really had drifted off to sleep.
Lucas stared up at the ceiling. He felt restless inside, unsatisfied, bored. He had everything he'd ever dreamed of, and along with it, the realization that nothing was as he thought it would be. Every chess piece of his life was in place. His career, family, life—all strategically laid out, the perfect foundation to build his legacy on. Mayor Shaw. Senator Shaw. It was what he'd worked for his whole life. The son of a postal worker, and the next state senator. The only kink in this chain of events had been Toni Robbins. Toni shined like a new penny to everyone she met, but Lucas knew another side of her. She'd threatened to make his life hell. Lucas swallowed hard. Relief that the drama with Toni was over was understandable, but relishing the fact that she was dead was despicable.
Lisa had had more than her share of champagne tonight, followed up with a couple of sleeping pills no doubt. Lucas eased out of bed, slipped on some jeans, a T-shirt, found his sneakers and quietly crept down the stairs. He'd purposefully left his car parked in front of the house to avoid having to open the garage. Lucas slowly turned onto the street, and breathed a much needed sigh of relief. Masturbating was more enthralling than fucking Lisa. Lucas needed something more. He squeezed his erection, and hurried across town for the kind of satisfaction his wife would never give him.
I Can See Clearly
“S
pare some change?” Lazarus had a technique for this that worked with assholes like this mothafucka. He stopped in front of them, held out his hand, and looked them square in the eyes, daring them not to dig around in their pockets and give him what they had. He only approached the man because he went out of his way to look unapproachable, and brothas like him needed a reality check sometimes
. There's a thin line between me and you, man
, Lazarus thought as the man begrudgingly handed him a buck.
If you'd taken that wrong turn back in the day, instead of me, maybe I'd be wearing that expensive-ass suit handing you a lousy dollar.
“ 'Preciate it,” Lazarus muttered as he stepped aside and let the man pass. Familiar face. So familiar.
Mayor Shaw climbed into his silver Mercedes and sped away.
 
The police had left that yellow tape up around where they found that woman's body, but Lazarus decided to hell with the tape. He was sleeping in his spot tonight whether they liked it or not. He stretched out under the viaduct, smoking a cigarette and listening to the water trickling by from the river. It was cold out, but Lazarus was toasty warm, layered in extra coats and sweaters he'd found in some bags folks had left behind the Salvation Army store for donations.
All week long he'd seen that woman's face in the newspapers, and heard people talking about it as he passed them. He wished they'd shut up about all that. Hell, it was over and the man who did it wasn't the type to get caught. He'd walk around free as a bird for the rest of his life, maybe tormented inside about it, maybe not, but cops wouldn't touch a man like him. His type was too damn righteous.
Lazarus spotted a couple walking along the path near where he rested, talking in low voices, arms looped inside arms. Them fools were dumb asses walking down here at night. In the daytime, the path was filled with joggers, walkers, and people riding bikes. But at night, this wasn't a safe place to stroll. They looked like they were enjoying each other's company, though. The man looked like some makeshift knight in shining armor, and she looked like the fair maiden princess too in love to see straight.
Love was something he missed from time to time. He believed he'd had it at least once, maybe twice. The first time was a sistah with a short natural, big hips, small breasts, and slanted dark eyes that made her look like she was from some foreign place. Jolene was her name. Or was it Charlene? Maybe Maureen. Anyway, he loved her. Or she loved him. One of the two. But they were together back in the day. Lived together and everything, making love, and barbeque, and maybe even babies. There were too many blank spots in his memory where she was concerned, but the memories that remained were some damn good ones. She could cook her ass off and every Sunday was a feast with that woman—collard greens, homemade cornbread, none of that store-bought shit, smothered pork chops, homemade macaroni and cheese with the big chunks of cheese melted into it, and sweet, delicious banana pudding. Lazarus smacked his lips just thinking about it. He ate like a king back in those days, and fucked like one too. Jolene or Maureen was a loaded gun in bed. Dangerous! Fearless! And game for anything. He heard himself laugh. She would buck on top of him like a bronco. One time she bucked so hard they put a hole in the damn wall behind the headboard. Damn! He loved that woman.
His other love happened while he was in lock-up. Lazarus had put his name on one of those pen pal lists and all these women started writing to him. They fell in love too easily for his taste, but then when you're locked down for twenty-some odd years, the promise of love equates to the promise of pussy, so he let them all love him as much as they wanted. One woman though, sent him a beautiful picture of herself with her son sitting on her lap. She was a nice looking woman, on the heavy side, but not bad looking at all. The boy looked just like her, too. Handsome young man, with a bright smile and a fresh, greasy haircut his mother had gotten for him just to take the picture. Everything about that woman was sweet in her letters. She wrote him every week, six, seven-page letters about how her week had gone, and what she and her son were up to. Lazarus wrote back when he could. Back then, he signed his real name to his letters—Brian. And she surprised him and told him how much she'd always liked that name. Every now and then she even had the boy write. Lazarus would read his letters over and over until he could recite them word for word without even looking. The next day, of course, he'd forget them. That woman and that boy was the closest he could ever remember to having a family of his own. And he missed them.
Lazarus was a name he'd given himself. Somewhere in the Bible, Jesus came back and brought Lazarus back from the dead, and after that you never head anything else about the man. Lazarus spent a lot of time in prison wondering what could possibly have happened to a man who'd been dead for all that time, then been brought back to life. Ain't no way he could've been the same man he was before all that happened. And he just assumed that maybe, while the real Lazarus was walking around alive and breathing, maybe a part of him was still back in that tomb—dead as dead could be. That's how he saw hisself. He was alive. And he wasn't. A part of him had died in that crash on top of this bridge years ago with that man and his little girl, which was why he was so drawn to this place. His soul lingered here. And that's why it felt like home.

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