Murder in Germantown Page 17

  “So what’s it going to be,” I asked and rocked on the heels of my Ferragamo’s with a dumb smile on my face that would have pissed me off had I received it.

  I was in power, and planned to keep his cash, and give Amelia some money to not show up in court. He (and probably you, too) believed that I just tried to extort my client. I didn’t. I didn’t encourage him to break the law either. As far as I knew: see no evil and hear none.

  “I’ll call you when I get the shit man,” he said as if it pained him.

  Could what I asked him have been that noxious? He was a penny-ante yegg who needed to pay his taxes to the street.

  I collected.

  CHAPTER 53

  Explorer’s Den was an Uptown takeout spot with superstar popularity and a menu that surrounded the famous Philly cheesesteak sandwich. The shop also sold hoagies and pizza to the students of LaSalle University.

  Aramis sat in a booth awaiting his pizza steak when he was approached by Rhonesia Cosby, reporter for the LaSalle U newspaper.

  “We meet again, Mr. Reed,” Rhonesia said, and held her hand out to shake his.

  She wanted to feel his manicured hands.

  “That is I,” he confirmed. “And call me Aramis.”

  “Why’d you invite me here? We are competitors. In fact, I want your job. Besides look around, no one eats in.”

  “Right,” Aramis said sarcastically. “Very investigative. Hope you like pizza steak and cheese fries.”

  “I do, Mr. Reed, but I am not hungry. Thanks, though.”

  “Have it wrapped to go. It’s even better after it has sat for a moment. Aramis, for the second time.”

  “Right,” Rhonesia chuckled. “So what’s up? It’s kind of strange meeting a real journalist.”

  “How come?”

  “Well the journalism industry allows in a handful of newbies. The competition is like the NBA, but there’s no real bench.”

  “Sure there is. Freelancers like me.”

  “Aramis, I pulled a few of your articles from the Internet. They are better than the staff writers.”

  “But a paper can only use a certain number of staff writers. I have done good work, but I’ve yet to take the media by storm. You pulled my articles. Must’ve been interested,” he said and smiled.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Just wanted to see if your work reflected your character.”

  “I’m okay, but enough about me. You’ve got to get some real credits under your belt and I am here to help you get credit number one.”

  Rhonesia was an independent woman who was not impressed by the promises of a man. She had no idea what Aramis spoke of. “I need an ear for the campus scuttlebutt and thought you’d be willing to lend your ear,” he said as lunch arrived. He took a large bite out of the steak sandwich, stuffed a handful of cheesy fries into his mouth. He sipped a soft drink, and dabbed the cracks of his mouth with a napkin.

  “Excuse me. I’m famished.”

  “Uh, Aramis. I am going to be very straight forward.”

  She looked him in the eyes and used him eating as her chance to do all the talking.

  “I can’t dig up dirt on Wydell. He’s getting stiffed, man.”

  Aramis sipped his Pepsi.

  “Good, because that’s not what I want. See there was a keychain found at the scene of the crime, a LaSalle U key chain to be exact. Prints pulled from the keychain are not Wydell’s. I’m looking for information on anyone at school with an interest to frame Mr. James or a motive to kill three people.”

  “Oh, Rhonesia can do that easily. As a reporter around here, students are careful around me. But a few of the girls around, you know, the party chicks, they may prove to be worth more than a blow job.”

  “Do they still claim to be virgins?”

  “Yup.”

  The two reporters chuckled. Aramis used the moment to alter his sandwich again.

  “Mr. Reed, how do I get a credit for that? Why should I trust you?”

  “Did I say credit? I meant byline. This is off the record. I have a leak in the defense. You don’t. Good enough?”

  “Byline in the Philadelphia Inquirer?” she asked and shook her head.

  “Yes, I will share the byline with you. Your name in the Philly lights.”

  “Just what I need. My name listed with yours. You better not be kidding,” she said and snatched one of his fries.

  “Is this a date?” he asked.

  “No!” Fire in her eyes.

  “Then keep your feet off my fries.” He chuckled.

  “I’ve been many things. I stopped kidding at ten. I studied journalism, got a masters at Harvard, but not even that prestigious U taught me how to dig up the real dirt. Do you...”

  “I can handle this, Aramis.”

  She held up a hand.

  “I’ve been hustling around this campus. I know how to get things shook up.”

  “My kinda girl.” Aramis confirmed. “Here’s my card. Call me anytime, day or night if you get anything hot. I have night vision goggles and all.”

  “I like the way you think,” she said.

  Rhonesia snatched up his business card and looked at it before stuffing it into her pocket. She stood and gripped up her sandwich.

  “Thanks for lunch, Aramis. I won’t let you down.”

  Aramis watched Rhonesia walk out into Chew Avenue. She headed toward the heart of the campus. Hopefully Rhonesia obtained what was required to help elevate them both to stardom. Aramis had no idea if his witch hunt would lead anywhere, but until things were going somewhere, he would not tell Ravonne about his little meeting with the novice reporter. Besides Aramis would love to crack this case and so would the Philadelphia Inquirer. He planned to get into Rhonesia’s bed. He adored chasing stories, as well as, independent, demanding, feisty women like, Rhonesia Cosby.

  CHAPTER 54

  I had walked into my condo with Brandon at 4:30. Dajuan was startled. He looked at the clock and then back at me. He turned back to the piano and continued making a song as if I had not been there. Brandon waved and went to his room. At age five, he knew not to disturb Dajuan while he made a number one Billboard hit. Hopefully, he learned that hard work paid off handsomely.

  I tossed my blazer onto the piano keys.

  “Wedding rings one day. No acknowledgement the next.”

  “It’s 4:30. You’re home and you picked up Brandon from Drama class. Two days of anything seems habitual, but I do not want to be deceived by you spoiling me coming home early. I am pretending that you are not home.”

  He tossed the blazer and went back to the piano keys.

  I straddled him and slipped my tongue into his mouth and we kissed passionately.

  “Still don’t see me?” I asked softly into his ear.

  “Nope.”

  I slipped my hands down his pants and massaged his erection.

  “Still not here, I presume?”

  “You’re in the garage,” he said with his eyes closed. “You’re going to have to do a little more to be in the condo.”

  “Too bad,” I said and laughed. “I came home early because I’m going to the bar tonight,” I informed him walking into the kitchen. “I gotta go mingle with the ghetto folks to get a little info.”

  “Sounds like fun. I hope you come home drunk. At least a little,” he said and smiled. “You like to get rough when you’re drunk a little. I want you drunk, so that we can flip and flop all over the place.”

  “I’ll be sure to have a club soda all night just for you,” I joked.

  I had every intention of getting drunk. Just kidding. I planned to be working, so no liquor. I would return home and pretend to be drunk for my lover, though.

  “You’re such a loser. I would go with you, but some idiot may have the news waiting outside for me. I don’t feel like being mobbed.”

  “It could be a good diversion, but I’ll pass. All of them hoes all over you would turn my stomach. Speaking of stomach. What’s for dinner?”

 
“Don’t know, but I have the dessert just for you.”

  “We still have the turkey, veal and pork burgers and wedges.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want burgers tonight.”

  “I’m not doing any gourmet cooking tonight, so do not ask. That’s the only reason you dragged me to those cooking classes.”

  “No. I drug you there because your spoiled ass could only cook basic meals, and Brandon needed well balanced meals. Fried chicken and hot dogs wasn’t cutting it. How about we have breakfast foods?”

  “Yes, I can go for that. Belgian waffles, Canadian bacon, eggs scrambled, and raisin bagels,” I offered and went into the kitchen when my cell phone rang.

  I wanted to ignore it, but it was the ringtone assigned to my family. I checked the caller ID, and answered, “Aunt Diana, what’s up?”

  My Aunt Diana was a recovering drug addict, but also a damn good dental hygienist. I had encouraged her to go to rehab in the small town of Williamsport, Pennsylvania where the Little League World Series was held each year. She took my advice, and 12 years later she had no desire to move back to Philadelphia, the rotten city that I love. She sprinkled a visit here and there, but “The Port” was hers and her second husband, Kyle’s. Her son Karon and her three adopted kids lived there, too. What a bunch.

  “This is Kyle,” he said and corrected me. “We have a problem.”

  “What’s up?” I asked with some hesitation.

  “Your aunt is in jail. They locked her up.”

  “What?”

  Now that was a comment worthy of the front page. In jail. That was the most insane thing that I had ever heard in my life as it related to Aunt Diana. I put the phone on speaker, so that I would be able to dress as he spoke.

  “Remember our wedding?” he asked.

  Of course, I did. Dajuan and I were groomsmen, and Dajuan sang.

  “Your cousin Kareem paid for our wedding flowers and our honeymoon. He ordered us a roundtrip Amtrak sleep car to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and a limo service the entire time that we were there.”

  “Stop, Kyle. I know all of the details. What you’re really saying is that Kareem ordered all of this with a stolen credit card, and they arrested my aunt for this.”

  “Man, he told Diana that he had a friend do it as a favor. I gotta get her out of there.”

  “I’m on my way. Chill out.”

  “Well you don’t have to come all the way here. They want the money to release her.”

  “How much?”

  “I have...”

  “Kyle! How much?” I growled.

  Brandon ran over to me and hugged me. I picked him up and saw him as a baby all over again. Dajuan was up from the piano bench, probably in the bedroom getting dressed.

  “Sorry for yelling, man,” I said. “But you know how I feel about my aunt. Whatever they want they can have tonight.”

  “They want $4,278.19.”

  “Can we Western Union that much?” I asked Dajuan.

  “The banks are closed,” Kyle said.

  “Kyle, go to the Giant Supermarket. They have a Western Union station there. I’ll send you $4000 and you can add the change.”

  “We will pay you back.”

  “Goodbye, Kyle. You can’t get to the market on the phone with me.” I hung up and asked Dajuan, “Do we have that much in the safe?”

  “Ravonne, calm down,” Dajuan suggested. “Yes, we do.”

  “I am calm, dammit. She’s too damn fragile to be in there. I can imagine her shaking and crying. Damn, Kareem. That fool is paying every dollar back for this. I might not get him out of jail for this.”

  “Can’t we use my credit card?”

  “Yeah, even better idea.”

  “No, let’s go with the cash because the verification process takes too long with credit cards over the phone. I don’t want the court to close and she can’t get out. I’ll go count the cash while you call the courthouse and work your lawyerly magic.”

  I picked up the phone and acted. Dajuan was serene and seemed to have everything under control. I usually held my composure, but this could not be thought out as methodically as one of my clients. This was something totally different. I would not sleep knowing she was being strip-searched and made to sleep in a cell. I knew that she was sitting trying to be patient, relying on her faith in God that Kyle would contact me and I would run to her rescue. She was absolutely correct, because she had always been there for me.

  “South Williamsport PD.”

  “Hi,” I said into the phone cordially.

  I sat on the sofa and tried to relax. Brandon was right under me. He rubbed my leg as if he was trying to calm a tiger.

  “You have a Diana Bezel-Sampson in custody and I wanted to know what time you closed and the latest time that the money could be brought in to have her released?”

  “Who is asking?” a gruffy male voice asked.

  “This is Ravonne Lemmelle, her attorney. I’m in Philadelphia and am en route to wire the money to your town for her release. I was wondering if I faxed you the receipt from Western Union could you hold off forwarding her to jail?”

  “You do not sound like an attorney. You sound like a parent.”

  “I am a lawyer, and her nephew, sir, and I am very concerned. My aunt is no criminal.”

  “I know that. She’s here because she refused to tell us who the male was who ordered the flowers from our local florist. See the local florist remembers the call and the transaction, because it was her biggest sale ever. Your aunt was on the line with the male and pretended that it was her father. She claims to have no idea where her father is.”

  “Wait, how do you know that she pretended?” I thought a moment and then said, “Ignore that. That’s testimony and we’re not there, yet. I will say that it was a shock for her dad to be at the wedding. He is very estranged. With whom am I speaking with?” I was absolutely lying through my teeth. That creep wasn’t there.

  “Deputy Tomlinson.”

  “Okay, Deputy, I am going to wire the money. It’s 4:50. The money should be in Williamsport by 5:20. It’s going to the Giant, and I am unsure how far that is from the station, but...”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Then her husband will be there just in time.”

  “I’ll start the paperwork now for her release, but she’s going to the prison at six, Mr. Lemmelle.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said and hung up. “Thanks Dajuan,” I said to him as he entered the living room with the cash in hand and ready to leave.

  CHAPTER 55

  After we sent the cash, I was relieved. My part was done. I had fulfilled my duty. Dajuan was driving us back to our home. I was no longer in the mood to be in the hood gathering data for my client, but that was also my duty. I knew that when I accepted my law degree and license to practice. I had to multi-task anger, grief, sadness, happiness, depression, family, and work. No matter the emotion, I was the ultimate actor. Bottom line, I was going to Charlie B’s and I’d love doing my job. I also planned to cook for my family, because I was a strong black man.

  Dajuan interrupted my thoughts. For the most part, he had been quiet in the wake of this drama with my aunt. It paid to have a mate who knew me inside and out.

  “What do you want for dinner? We can eat out,” he said and then added, “I can’t believe, Kareem.”

  “Me either, but she was in on it. With his encouragement, I’m sure. She’s a woman and a fancy wedding is a dream from being a young lady.”

  “So glad that we don’t have to worry about a fancy wedding.”

  “What does that mean?” I had a little more bass in my voice than normal.

  “Don’t start Ray-Ray. You know how I feel about same sex marriage.”

  Dajuan looked at me weirdly at a red light. His glare penetrated me. I knew what he meant, but deep down I knew that he would marry me. I let it go, and switched gears.

  “I’ll cook dinner.”

  “Don’t play superman, Black Face. Fo
’ real. We can eat out and get the same meal that you planned to cook,” Dajuan told me.

  He had a point. This was not the time to be obstinate.

  “Let’s go to the Midtown Diner on 11th and Samson.”