Roy Glenn - The cost of vengeance
I looked at the model that was walking across the stage in front of me. “Practically anorexic,” I commented.
“I’m sayin’: that one is all skin and bones,” Tommy agreed. “Anyway. When Jenna couldn’t drop the weight, she was a has-been as a model. Now she dresses them.”
“I want to meet her.”
Tommy introduced us that night, I gave her my card, and after I assured her that I wasn’t a lesbian trying to pick her up, we agreed to meet for dinner the following evening. I arrived dressed in a Proenza Schouler one-shoulder bubble dress with an asymmetrical neckline wrapped along the waist’s bubble hem; Proenza Schouler wedge ankle boots; and a 24-carat diamond ring with earrings to match, and a diamond-studded watch. As we talked about her former modeling career over dinner, I could tell that she was looking at the diamonds. I was purposely vague when she asked what I did for a living. I told her that I did recruiting and training, and that seemed to satisfy her for the moment.
I spoke with her daily for the next couple of days. Nothing more than “Hi, how’s it going,” and some idle chit-chat. Then I called her early one morning and asked if she wanted to go to a party with me. “Really, Jada.”
“Really, Jenna. But this is a very upscale affair and I don’t mean to be rude, but do you have an evening gown?”
“No,” Jenna said and sounded dejected.
I told her that I would pick her up in an hour and we spent the day shopping. I bought her a Carmen Marc Valvo ruched-satin cocktail dress with a sexy double V-neck to wear that evening. Along with Jimmy Choo lance-mirrored sandals and a clutch bag to match. That night at the party, Jenna asked me again what I did for a living, but before I could answer, she said, “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you do, Jada, I want to be a part of it.”
So I told her what I did, what I would do for her, and what I wanted her to do. “Do you still want to be a part of it?” I asked.
Jenna looked me in the eyes. “When do we start?”
I brought Jenna in to replace my top earner and best friend, Diane. She was my top earner, male or female client didn’t matter, Diane put in the work. One afternoon, I was sitting around the apartment relaxing with Diane and we were talking about our increase in business. I had just offered her, her choice of the last three appointments that came in. “What times are they?”
I ran my finger down the appointment schedule on my laptop. “Uh, seven, ten, and a late night will call.”
“Jackson?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll take them all,” Diane said.
I remember the speech I gave that first night that the ladies got together. “The most important thing that I’m going to teach you is how to conduct yourselves in a ladylike manner in every situation. Elegant and classy, ladies, that is who you are at all times.” I stood up and moved to the middle of the living room. “I’m going to teach you how to walk, how to talk.” I looked at Diane and she rolled her eyes. “And how to dress and how to conduct yourself at any occasion. Knowing what to say and what not to say, will make your company more desirable and therefore requested on a regular basis.”
I thought back to the day Diane came running into my office and shoved her hand in my face. “I’m getting married!” she yelled and then danced around the room like she was in a conga line. “I’m getting married, Jada,” she said and once again shoved her hand in my face. This time I grabbed it and looked at the ring. It was a princess-shape Mark Broumand platinum 3.41 carat diamond ring.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Jada?”
“Yes, Diane it is.” Then I asked the question. “Who asked you to marry them?” The reason Diane was my top earner was because she worked all the time. I didn’t think she had time for a social life.
“Jackson.”
“Jackson? You don’t mean Jackson Ponder?” Now it made sense, Jackson Ponder was one of my better clients, and Diane had been his only choice for the last two years.
“He took me to his country club last night to meet his friend, and this morning he asked me to marry him.”
Now that the initial shock had worn off, I got up and hugged Diane. “I am so happy for you, Diane.” And I was. Jackson Ponder was a multibillionaire. “You’re getting married, and to a very rich man,” I said and hugged her again.
“Every hoe’s dream,” Diane laughed.
“So when is the big day?”
“In two weeks,” Diane said. “And I got something to ask you, Jada,” Diane said and took a step back.
“What’s that?”
“Would you be my maid of honor?” Diane looked at me. “Please say yes, Jada. You’re my best friend, my only real friend. I couldn’t get married without you standing next to me.”
“Of course I will, Diane. I’m honored that you asked.”
“I haven’t decided who I’m going to ask to be bridesmaids yet,” Diane said and I smiled.
“Why choose.”
“What do you do mean?”
“Why not have all of the ladies as your bridesmaids?” I suggested. You see, Jackson Ponder was rich-very rich-and that usually meant that all of his friends were rich too. I saw it as an opportunity to recruit some new clients.
Well, Jackson only agreed to three bridesmaids, but I gave everybody the afternoon off to go to Diane’s wedding. But as soon as the reception was over, everybody went back to work. And even though I told her that she didn’t have to, Diane kept working. In fact, the wedding was at four o’clock and she took her last client at one.
In a very short time, I planned a beautiful affair. Everything was wonderful. One of his groomsmen was already a client, and he was nice enough introduce me around. Before the night was over, I had seven new clients and three more that I thought had potential, but just didn’t get to because they left early. But I did get each of their business cards and promised that I would get back to them within the week for cocktails. It seemed that most, if not all of the men there, knew how he’d met Diane, and that made it easy.
I started to ask Mr. Black to be my escort for the evening, but I knew that if he was there, all I would want to do was, smile in face and giggle like a schoolgirl over every word that came out of his mouth, and offer him my body. As good as that sounded to me, I knew that the evening would be better spent speaking with potential new clients. Once again, my passion for Mr. Black would have to wait.
Chapter Six
Kirk
Either it way too early or I was getting too old for this shit. It wasn’t quite six-thirty in the morning yet, and I was on my way to a triple. As I approached the crime scene, I saw that there was a crowd formed around the perimeter that the uniforms had setup. “Wasn’t too early for them,” I said and parked the car.
I made my way through the crowd of onlookers and showed my badge as I went under the tape. The first person I saw coming toward me was narcotics’ lieutenant, Gene Sanchez. He was a good guy as far as cops go, and as far as cops go, he was a good cop.
“Morning, Kirk,” Sanchez said and looked around. “Where’s your partner? Off somewhere beating a suspect?” he asked and shook my hand.
“On vacation.”
“And your captain let you work alone?”
“Nah, he tried to stick me with some broad that just got her shield and I told him that I was thinking about taking all of the six months of vacation I got accumulated, and he changed his mind.”
“Sounds like gender bias to me, Kirk,” Sanchez said and shook his finger at me as we approached the first of the three bodies.
“Not gender bias, Gene; I don’t have the patience to train no wet-behind-the-ears chick that just got her shield. I’m still training Richards and we’ve been partners for six years.”
“What she look like?”
“Oh, she’s hot. And I hear she was a good cop on the street,” I said and knelt down next to the body. “I just ain’t the guy to get her feet wet with.”
“If you want my opinion, and I notice that you haven’t asked for it, I think you’re the perfect guy to bust her cherry. You’re a good cop, Kirk, and a better detective then most of the guys in that unit.”
I looked at the body and got up. “That’s the same line of shit the captain ran on me. But you see she ain’t here, right?”
“You’re a piece of work this morning,” Sanchez said and laughed.
“It’s early and I haven’t had my coffee yet.” I looked at the other two bodies. “Any ID on this one?” I asked as we walked to the next body.
“Nope. Not on that one either,” Sanchez said as I took a look at the second body and moved on to the third. “Only one with any ID is her.”
I looked at her laying there dead, with the gun still in her hand, and shook my head. “Who was she?”
“Driver’s license says she’s Kenyatta Damson. Got a couple of arrests a few years back for possession with intent. Been off the grind for a while though.”
I looked at Sanchez. “You guys didn’t know about this spot?”
“No, I’m ashamed to say. And from what I’ve gotten from the few that have said something, she controlled the building.”
I looked at the crowd. “Anybody see what happened?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Uni’s canvas the building yet?”
“In progress. They’re going door-to-door, but so far nobody is talking.”
“Evidence techs done with the scene?”
“They’re finished. They saved the bodies for you.”
“Okay, let’s get them outta here,” I said, and they tagged and bagged the bodies. Once they were gone, I looked at the crowd again and walked over to three uniforms that weren’t doing anything. “Come with me.”
“Yes, sir,” they said and followed me back to the crowd.
I walked slowly along the tape line. “Get him,” I said, and one of the officers went and got him.
“What you fuckin’ wit’ me for? I ain’t do shit,” he protested.
I picked out two more and told the officers to keep them separated, and I would talk to them the later. “Okay folks!” I shouted. “Anybody who lives here can go back inside,” I said and the rest of the officers went about dispersing the crowd. As the building residences made there way back to the building, I looked them over carefully. I saw an older man shaking his head as he walked, and then he made eye contact with me. I caught up with him.
“Excuse me, sir. Did you see what happened here tonight?” I asked as we walked.
“No, sir, I didn’t see nothing,” he said louder than he needed to. Then he whispered. “Two thirteen.” And kept walking.
I let the rest walk by and get in the building before I moved. Just as I was about to go up to apartment 213 to hear what the man had to say, an officer rushed up to us. “Excuse me, detectives, but we found another body,” he said excitedly.
“Where?” Sanchez asked.
“In a vacant apartment on the third floor.”
“Call the techs back and tell them we got another one, Gene.” Sanchez pulled out his radio and got them to turn around, as we followed the officer to the third floor.
“Who found the body?” I asked along the way, then up the stairs.
“I did,” the officer said. “We were going door-to-door and that one wasn’t completely shut. I gave it a little shove and shined my light in there. Body is in the living room.”
“Anybody go in there?” Sanchez asked.
“No, sir. I left my partner to watch the door and I came to find you.”
“Good man,” Sanchez said and I shook my head. He might as well have patted the kid on the head and gave him a treat.
“See if you can get an ETA on the evidence techs,” I said as we got closer to the apartment. I borrowed the kid’s flashlight and shined it in the apartment. “Another woman, Gene,” I said and Sanchez looked in.
“You think this one is connected with the others?” he asked.
“Hard to say.”
“Lieutenant Reyes says he’s on his way up now,” the officer said, and we waited outside the apartment so the crime scene wouldn’t be distributed.
I waited until Reyes’s team got finished doing their job, before Sanchez and I went in. “What you got, Reyes?”
“Black female; shot once in the head at point blank range. Judging from the angle of the entry wound, either the shooter was very tall, or the victim was on her knees,” Reyes said.
“Executed,” Sanchez said. “I guess that answers our question about whether they’re related,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Maybe, but not necessarily, lieutenant,” Reyes said. “And I’m going purely on the state of rigor in the body. I’d say this one was shot a good seven hours before the ones outside. But give me some time and I’ll have a timeline for you; though she was definitely shot first.”
“Thanks, Reyes,” I said and left the apartment to let them bag and tag her.
I went downstairs and knocked on the door of apartment 213. When the door opened, the man hurried us in and scanned the hall to see if anybody had seen us come in. He quickly closed the door and locked it. I looked around the room and noticed the chair sitting next to the window. I motioned for Sanchez and he walked over to the window and looked out. “I’m Detective Kirkland,” I began.
“I don’t need to know all that. I know y’all the cops.”
I laughed a little. “Okay, sir, just tell us what you saw?”
“The killers; they rolled up in a black van, jumped out, and started shooting.”
“You were sitting here by the window when it happened?” Sanchez asked.
“I was watching television.”
“You always up this late?” I asked.
“I don’t get in from work ’til three. I always watch a little TV before I go to bed. I had been here about an hour when they come. Kenyatta and them other two, shot back, and the rest of them scattered.”
“You know what it was about?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“What’s it always about, officer: drugs. That girl and her thugs been regulatin’ this buildin’ for years. People coming and goin’, buying they dope all hours of the day and night.”
“How long have they been setup here?” Sanchez needed to know since this spot wasn’t on his radar.
“Shit, about two, maybe three years,” he said. “Now y’all got to go. You been in here just long enough for me to tell you I ain’t see nothing.” He started walking toward the door.
“Okay, sir, we’re going; but did you get a look at any of the shooters, or can you tell me what kind of van it was?”
“They was Black and so was the van, and that’s all I could see from here. Now y’all got to go,” he said and opened the door. Once we were out in the hall he stuck his head out. “Like I told you outside, officer, I ain’t see nothing,” he said loudly and slammed the door.
Sanchez and I walked away from apartment 213 in silence, and went down the steps. There were still the three guys from the crowd that I picked out, to talk to. I chose the three of them because, unlike most of the crowd who looked like they had just grabbed something to wear to run out and see the show, these three were dressed like they had been out all night doing business. They looked like dope boyz-pure and simple. Some call it profiling; I call it my job.
